


Unapologetically

by jacksonstilinskis



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Panic Attacks, Post-Season/Series 03, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Road Trips, Slow Burn, basically my boys being soft and working out their problems and growing together :')
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-03-29 13:17:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19020706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacksonstilinskis/pseuds/jacksonstilinskis
Summary: After the nogitsune, Stiles is different. He’s quieter, more reserved, chooses his words more carefully instead of letting his every thought spew out of his mouth without a care. He doesn’t say much of anything to anyone these days, actually, other than Scott. So when he shows up at his doorstep at 3:00 AM with an emotionless wave and a bag slung over his shoulder, Jackson’s more than a little surprised.AKA the post-3B roadtrip fic we all deserved.





	Unapologetically

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this gem in 2014 and I've stopped and restarted it so many times, so to finally be finished with it feels so good. Also, if you're wondering about some of the outdated pop culture references, that's why, lol.
> 
> So many people have helped me with this fic over the years, whether it be with editing, plot suggestions, or moral support, and I appreciate every single one of them, but special thank you to my love [Minna](https://manspirations.tumblr.com/), because I probably wouldn't have finished without her.

After the nogitsune, Stiles is different. He’s quieter, more reserved, chooses his words more carefully instead of letting his every thought spew out of his mouth without a care. He doesn’t say much of anything to anyone these days, actually, other than Scott.

So when he shows up at his doorstep at 3:00 AM with an emotionless wave and a bag slung over his shoulder, Jackson’s more than a little surprised.

“So, uh, how…how are you?” Jackson asks hesitantly, because he doesn’t know the protocol here. He hasn’t talked to the guy in weeks, and besides, it’s not like they were ever really friends to begin with.

They’re in Jackson’s room; Jackson’s in his desk chair and Stiles is sitting on the bed, staring in Jackson’s general vicinity but never looking directly at him. Jackson remembers that feeling. Not being able to make eye contact with anyone. He winces.

“Stilinski,” he tries again when he gets no response.

Stiles blinks, comes back to reality. “I want to leave,” he says.

Jackson raises a brow. “Leave? Leave, like…like what? Leave Beacon Hills?”

Stiles just nods, lips pursed.

“Okay…and what does that have to do with me?” Jackson asks. He doesn’t mean for it to be as harsh as it comes out, but Stiles doesn’t even seem to notice.

“The Jeep’ll never make it across the country, so I need a ride. I figured you’re the only one who won’t try to baby me or fix me or shrink me, seeing as you don’t give a shit about me.”

That’s not fair. Despite their rocky history, Stilinski’s pack now. Jackson cares about him. He lets it go, though, can’t find the words to correct him. He doubts Stiles would even believe him if he tried.

“Across the country, huh? Like where?”

Stiles shrugs. “Four Corners. Seattle. All over Texas. The Breaking Bad house. Washington DC. New York, to see a Mets game. Biggest casino in the country’s in Oklahoma. It doesn’t matter. Anywhere, everywhere but here.”

It doesn’t sound like a bad idea. Jackson had wanted to run, too, when the kanima thing had happened to him. He’d bought a plane ticket to London and everything, but he hadn’t been able to go through with it in the end. He kind of wants to go through with it now.

“We still have two months of school. We wouldn’t be able to graduate,” Jackson says, because it’s worth mentioning.

“Who cares?” Stiles asks.

Jackson realizes that he really, really doesn’t.

 

So they go. Right there, right then. Jackson packs a bag, and leaves a note for his parents, and they go.

“Can I drive?” Stiles asks, eyeing the Porsche as soon as they’re outside.

Jackson scoffs. “Hell no,” he says.

“Asshole,” Stiles grumbles, but he gets into the passenger seat anyway.

He’s out like a light before Jackson even gets to the gas station to fill up his tank. He can’t even be annoyed, because if the bags under his eyes are any indication, Stiles hasn’t gotten much sleep in days. Maybe weeks. Maybe not since the Nogitsune, almost six months ago. Jackson remembers that part, too, being plagued by nightmares to the point where he’d constantly have a cup of coffee in his hand just so he wouldn’t have to sleep.

He shakes his head, snaps himself out of it, and then goes back through the list Stiles had rattled off back at his house. He figures they can start with Seattle, then loop back down to the Four Corners and over to Oklahoma and Texas.

He pulls his phone out and puts Seattle into his navigation, and holy shit, it’s exhilarating to not have a destination address. Nothing specific, just a city hundreds and hundreds of miles away.

He starts the car, pulls out of the gas station, and just drives.

Stiles sleeps for a good six hours. When he wakes up, Jackson has the radio playing quietly and cruise control on at 80 miles an hour, and he’s never felt so free.

“Where are we?” Stiles asks.

“Oregon. Springfield, I think.”

“Huh.”

They both go quiet again after that, but it’s nice. Peaceful.

Until Stiles’ phone rings. As soon as it happens, Jackson can sense the tension seeping into the atmosphere and the anxiety rolling off of Stiles in waves. He chances a glance and sees that it’s Stiles’ dad calling.

“You gonna get that?” he asks, though it’s pretty obvious what the answer is.

“No,” Stiles says, and he resolutely declines the call.

Jackson tries not to say anything. It’s really not his business, after all.

He makes it almost a full two minutes before he caves.

“Did you tell anyone you were leaving?” he asks.

The silence he gets is answer enough.

“Not even McCall?”

“They just would have told me not to go,” Stiles replies. “And I would have listened, because it’s Dad and Scott, and I would do anything for them. But I needed this.”

“Okay,” Jackson says, because he gets it. He does. “But now that you’re gone, they can’t really make you come back, right? You shouldn’t let them worry for nothing.”

He definitely hears Stiles humph reluctantly, and Jackson chuckles.

“Call Scott, at least,” he suggests.

“Fine,” Stiles huffs.

Jackson doesn’t mean to listen in on the phone call, really, but he can’t be blamed for his super-hearing.

_“Stiles? Where are you, dude? You’re not at school, and your dad said you weren’t home this morning and now you’re not answering his calls and I—“_

“I’m fine, Scott. I’m in Oregon.”

_“Oregon? Why?”_

“Because it’s in-between California and Washington.”

_“If this is a joke, I don’t get it, Stiles.”_

“No joke. I just…I left.”

_“I don’t…why didn’t you tell me? I could have…I would have gone with you.”_

Stiles sighs, runs a hand through his hair.

“Because I needed to go now, and you need to stay home and graduate from high school. It’s your dream, it’s your mom’s dream, and you’re almost there. I couldn’t ruin that.”

_“It was my dream to graduate with my best friend standing next to me.”_

That’s a punch in the gut, even to Jackson, and it doesn’t have anything to do with him. Stiles doesn’t say anything.

_“Okay, just…are you safe? You’re sure you’re okay by yourself?”_

“I’m fine. I’m with Jackson.”

Jackson can feel it through the phone and across the car, how badly Scott’s itching to say something, to ask why. He doesn’t, though.

_“Okay. Stiles, I...I love you. You know that, right?”_

“I know. You, too. Tell my dad I’m fine, and that I’ll call him later, okay?”

_“Alright. Keep me updated on where you are and how you’re doing, please?”_

“Yeah. Bye, Scotty.”

As soon as he hangs up, Stiles cranks the volume on the radio way up before Jackson has the chance to say anything.

Jackson doesn’t mind. He has no idea what he’d say, anyway.

 

They get to Seattle a little after 5:00 PM, so they decide to just go straight to the Space Needle. By the time they buy their tickets and get up to the top, the sun’s starting to set, and it’s one of the most gorgeous sights Jackson’s ever seen.

“Wow,” he breathes.

When Stiles doesn’t say anything in response, Jackson looks over at him. He’s staring down at the city, but his gaze is empty. Vacant.

“What’re you thinking about?” Jackson prods.

“Jumping,” Stiles says, and it’s so blunt and honest it gives Jackson goosebumps.

“Jesus, Stilinski.”

“I wouldn’t actually do it, just…” Stiles trails off. “I don’t know.”

The most concerning part is that it makes perfect sense to Jackson. He wants to tell him that.

“You’re pretty fucked up,” he says instead.

Stiles laughs; it’s humorless, but it’s the first time Jackson’s heard him laugh in months, so he’ll take it.

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, turning back to the view, really looking at it this time. “It really is amazing up here, though, huh?”

He can hear the contentment in Stiles’ voice, just for a second, and something warm settles in the pit of his stomach as he hums in agreement.

“Come on,” he says a few moments later, grabbing Stiles by the wrist and leading him across the platform, stopping when they reach another person. Jackson asks her if she’ll take a picture of them, and she smiles and takes Jackson’s phone from him, agreeing happily.

“What the hell, dude,” Stiles grumbles, and Jackson rolls his eyes.

“We drove 800 miles for this, I want a fucking picture.”

He puts his arm around Stiles’ shoulders without another word and flashes his best Jackson Whittemore smile.

When the lady gives him his phone back, she tells him, “You two are cute together.”

“I…thanks,” he says, because there’s no point in correcting her.

He looks at the picture once she’s walked away, and it is pretty good, actually. Stiles isn’t smiling, but if you squint, he almost looks happy. Jackson locks his phone, then after a moment of hesitation, opens it back up and sends the picture to McCall.

He gets a text back almost immediately.

_Please look after him. He’s really messed up, Jackson._

Jackson feels bad for the guy, honestly. He’s clearly worried as hell, and Stiles just doesn’t seem concerned about it. That’s gotta be hard.

_I know. I’m trying, he sends back._

“Wanna get something to eat?” he asks Stiles, pocketing his phone.

“Here? This place is far from in my budget.”

“Have you forgotten who you’re with?” Jackson asks, waggling his eyebrows for good measure.

Stiles rolls his eyes but reluctantly agrees.

He orders the cheapest thing on the menu, because he feels guilty, Jackson guesses, but he ends up eating half of Jackson’s lobster.

It should bother him, because he always bitched at Lydia endlessly for taking food off his plate. It doesn’t, though.

 

Stiles suggests they find a cheap motel to stay at, but Jackson glares, reminds him that he’s Jackson Whittemore, and finds them a decent hotel.

“You know, when I asked you to come with, I wasn’t expecting you to bankroll me the entire trip,” Stiles tells him as they walk into their room.

Jackson shrugs. “It’s my parents’ money, and they haven’t even bothered to call and make sure I’m okay, so the way I see it, they _should_ be bankrolling us.”

And, okay. When he opened his mouth, he had been planning to say “shut up” or “don’t worry about it” or something else equally nonchalant, but for some reason being around Stiles makes him want to be honest. He’s tired of pretending he doesn’t give a shit about anything.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles says, quietly.

“Just call your dad, okay? He cares. Don’t fuck that up.”

“Okay,” he agrees, no complaints.

He gets up and goes into the hallway to make the call, and Jackson is fast asleep in his bed before Stiles gets back.

 

He wakes up in the middle of the night to Stiles panting. He can tell right off that it’s a nightmare, because he remembers. He remembers seeing the people he killed die over and over again, seeing Matt laughing and cheering him on, seeing himself _enjoying_ it, until he couldn’t breathe and he’d jolted awake, gasping for air.

He looks over and sees Stiles turned on his side, curled in on himself, trying to catch his breath.

Jackson wants to go over there, wants to say something at the very least. But he’s exhausted, and besides, he’s sure Stiles would just shut him out anyway.

He decides to ignore it and lets himself drift back to sleep, fully aware of what an enormous prick he is.

 

When he wakes up again, it’s bright as hell – mid-afternoon, he guesses – and Stiles is watching Friends.

“What time is it?” he asks, rubbing a hand across his face. He glances over at the nightstand and sees a box of donuts and a cup of coffee.

“3:30 ish,” Stiles answers, turning his head to look at Jackson. “Don’t worry, I didn’t drive your precious Porsche. The donut shop was just down the street,” he adds when he sees Jackson eyeing the food.

“Shit,” Jackson swears around a yawn. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You drove almost thirteen hours straight yesterday. Figured you needed some rest.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles, taking a swig of the coffee and turning his attention to the TV. “Oh, I love this one.”

“Me too,” Stiles says, and Jackson doesn’t miss the tiny, almost shy smile on his face.

He grins back, then realizes what he’s doing and gets rid of it by stuffing a donut into his mouth.

A scene of Ross pining over Rachel comes on, and Jackson groans.

“I can’t stand them together,” he says. “I always wanted Rachel to be with—“

“Chandler,” Stiles says, at the same time Jackson says “Joey.”

“Well. As long as it’s not Ross, I think we’ll get along just fine,” Stiles offers.

Jackson laughs, and something just clicks. It’s the first conversation they’ve had since they left that’s light, unimportant, that’s just talking. Jackson feels like he’s chipped away at this dark shell of Stiles and revealed a tiny piece of the old him.

He suddenly realizes he wants to get rid of the whole damn thing.

 

They go on a ferry ride that evening, and Jackson’s never been one for being out on the water in the middle of nowhere with no other way to get back to land, but he actually ends up enjoying it. The thing even has a hot chocolate vending machine, so they have to get some, even though it’s 60 degrees outside.

“Dad said to tell you hi,” Stiles says while they’re up on the top level, looking out at the water with the wind in their hair.

“Yeah? What else did he say?”

“He’s pretty pissed,” he says, wincing. “Wants me home, though. He said if I just come back and finish off the year, graduate, he’ll let me go afterwards without any complaints.”

Jackson looks over at him. “We can, you know. It’s just a few weeks. The rest of the country isn’t going anywhere.”

“No,” Stiles replies, almost immediately. “I just…I know it’s not a long time, in the grand scheme of things, and I know not getting a high school diploma is a dumbass move – sorry for dragging you into that, by the way – but I couldn’t spend another second in that town. I was suffocating.”

“Okay,” Jackson says, nodding, because he’s in this. He’s not sure why he’s so invested, considering their track record, but whatever Stiles wants to do is what he wants to do.

Then, all of a sudden, in a typical Seattle-like fashion, it starts raining. Jackson moves to haul ass back inside the ferry, but then he sees Stiles standing there, eyes closed, blissed-out look on his face like he’s being metaphorically cleansed, and he decides they can stay out here a few more minutes. He snaps a quick picture while Stiles isn’t looking, a selfie of Jackson with Stiles in the background.

When Stiles opens his eyes, he smiles at Jackson and they head back inside without a word. Jackson shivers at the sudden rush of air conditioning against his damp shirt.

Stiles notices and shrugs his hoodie off, holding it out to Jackson like he’s some fucking damsel in distress.

Jackson puts it on anyway, because whatever, he’s cold.

 

“We should go to that ferris wheel today,” Jackson says when he walks out of the bathroom the next morning, freshly showered and buttoning up his shirt. Stiles is still in bed, scrolling through his phone. “What’s it called again?”

“The Seattle Great Wheel,” he answers. “But, um, actually, can we…do you mind if we just hang out here today?”

“Something wrong?” Jackson asks, tone of worry creeping into his voice.

“No, it’s fine, just…it’s hard to explain. Some days I just can’t get out of bed, I guess.”

Jackson nods. “Yeah, no, don’t worry about it.”

There’s a beat of silence, then he adds, “The same thing happened to me.”

Stiles looks up from his phone, meets Jackson’s eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Jackson says, and he doesn’t talk about this, hasn’t ever talked about this, but who knows? Maybe it’ll help, so he does. “The guilt tore me apart some days. I’d just go back and forth between my room and the bathroom to throw up.”

“I threw up a lot at the beginning,” Stiles admits. “Now it’s more paralyzing, like I don’t deserve to go out and have a life when all those people can’t now. When Allison can’t.”

“I know,” Jackson says, because he does.

They end up watching all three of the Jurassic Park movies, and Jackson promises they’ll go see the new one once Stiles is feeling better.

 

Lydia texts him that night to check up on the both of them.

_How’s Stiles doing? How are you?_

Jackson doesn’t even begin to know how to answer that honestly.

_I’m fine. Stiles is…doing the best he can, he replies._

_Okay. I miss you, she sends back._

Jackson smiles, because he really needed to hear that from someone. Things haven’t been quite the same since they broke up, but they’ll always love each other, even if it’s platonic now.

_Miss you too, Lyd._

 

“Can I ask you something?” Stiles asks suddenly.

Jackson startles; they’ve had the lights off for at least an hour now, and he thought Stiles was asleep.

“Shoot,” he says.

“How did you move past all this shit? It feels like I never will.”

Jackson sighs. “Honestly? I don’t know,” he says. “It just happened one day.”

“Real helpful, thank you,” Stiles teases.

“I’m serious, asshole,” Jackson says, chuckling. “I wouldn’t say I’m over it, it’s just dulled, you know? The guilt’s still there, probably always will be, but I just don’t let it control my whole life, if that makes any sense.”

“But how do you do that?” Stiles asks.

“Stop blaming yourself. I know that’s easier said than done, but the thing is, it’s not your fault. It was you, you were the physical body that did it all, and you can feel bad about that all you want. But it wasn’t your fault. You weren’t the one consciously making the decision to do all that shit. You were forced, essentially, supernatural gun to your head. And thinking that you’re a bad person, that you’re some kind of evil when you aren’t? That’s what’ll kill you.”

“I did it, but it wasn’t my fault,” Stiles repeats, mulling it over.

“Exactly,” Jackson agrees. “God, I always hated when people said that to me – _‘it wasn’t you, Jackson,’_ ” he mimics in a whiny voice. “I knew they meant well, but it pissed me off. As if they were qualified to give me advice about being fucking possessed.”

Stiles bursts out laughing at that, and Jackson can’t help but laugh too.

He waits until Stiles is asleep before he lets himself drift off.

 

Jackson wakes up to a long, kind of frantic text from McCall, timestamped at almost 4:00 in the morning.

_I know this is completely lame, and I feel like I’m back in elementary school even thinking about asking, but can you talk to Stiles for me? He told me he would keep me updated but we haven’t talked since then, and I’ve texted a few times but he won’t reply and I don’t know why he’s doing this, I don’t know why he’s shutting me out. He’s been doing it to everyone else forever, but he always told me everything, and then one day out of the blue he just ran and he did it with you instead of me and I don’t understand WHY. But when it comes down to it, it doesn’t matter. What matters to me is that he’s safe and healthy and happy, if he even remembers how to be happy, but he won’t even tell me that much. He won’t tell me anything. I know you probably don’t care about any of this, but I don’t want to push him and I really miss my best friend._

Jackson sighs, because this whole thing is so fucked up and he has no idea why he’s the one who has to deal with it.

“What’s wrong?” Stiles asks.

Jackson just shakes his head. “Nothing.”

It’s too early for this shit, he decides. It can wait until later.

 

He decides to bring it up when they’re on the ferris wheel later that day, so neither of them can run.

“So are you pissed at McCall, or what?”

“What? No,” Stiles says, as if the very idea is ridiculous.

Jackson has to suppress an eye roll.

“Then why have you been blowing him off all week?” he asks.

“I haven’t,” Stiles answers matter-of-factly, pointedly looking anywhere but at Jackson.

“Look, Stilinski, he’s worried. Like, really worried. I don’t think he’s been sleeping,” Jackson says.

“I don’t know that I appreciate you two talking about me behind my back,” Stiles quips, and Jackson doesn’t know why he expected any less, really. Of course he’s going to make this difficult.

“It’s not behind your back, I’m telling you now,” Jackson fires back. “Besides, we wouldn’t have to if you would just talk to him yourself.”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and opens up the text, then holds it out to Stilinski. He figures Scott’s words may be more convincing than his own.

As Stiles reads, his face falls, and the stubbornness visibly deflates from his demeanor, and Jackson knows he’s won.

“I just…” Stiles trails off, sighing. “I always feel like I’m dragging him down, into my shit, you know? Like, he’s Scott McCall, actual human embodiment of sunshine, and I’m this gigantic storm cloud that follows him around and ruins everything.”

Jackson squints, because he’s not buying it. It’s the truth, no doubt (or at least, Stiles thinks it is), but it’s not _this_ truth.

“Uh-uh,” Jackson says. “Try again.”

“Fuck off, Jackson,” Stiles says, narrowing his eyes.

Jackson just raises his eyebrows. “Tell me, dipshit.”

“It’s just easier to talk to you, okay?”

And that…Jackson doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that.

“Scott’s a great listener, and he tries to understand, he really does, but he just doesn’t get it,” Stiles continues. “He’s never had that kind of darkness inside him, and it’s exhausting trying to explain it. I don’t have to explain anything to you. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Jackson nods, clears his throat to buy some time, because he’s still a little stunned, honestly.

“Okay, so…why don’t you save all the dark stuff for me, and give McCall the rest? The chronicles of our trip, or whatever.”

Stiles doesn’t say anything; instead, he takes out his phone, holding it at an angle so Jackson can see, and texts Scott.

_Jackson and I are seeing Jurassic World tonight, and then tomorrow we’re going to the original Starbucks. Miss you._

He gets a reply less than a minute later.

_That sounds awesome. Have a caramel macchiato for me!! Miss you more :)_

Then Jackson’s phone buzzes, and it’s a _Thank you_ from Scott.

They go around on the ferris wheel one more time, because Stiles insists Jackson “ruined the experience” the first time.

 

Jackson calls Danny after they get home from the movie that night, because all the mediation between Scott and Stiles today made him miss his own best friend.

_“Jackson!”_

As soon as Danny picks up, he sounds so happy to hear from him, and Jackson feels a twinge of guilt for not talking to him as often as he should.

“Hey, man. How’s Hawaii?”

_“It’s great. My whole family’s here, and more importantly, no werewolves are here. For the most part.”_

Jackson raises a brow. “For the most part?”

_“Yeah, I actually did have a run-in with one, but I convinced him to leave town.”_

“That’s my boy,” Jackson says, smiling.

_“I didn’t really do much, to be completely honest. Told him I’d get true alpha Scott McCall out here to kick his ass and he pretty much went running. That guy has so much pull in the supernatural world, it’s insane.”_

“Yeah, it’s true,” he says, chuckling. “And how’s the boyfriend?”

_“We’re great. Prom was last weekend, actually. Hang on, I’ll send you a couple pictures.”_

His phone pings a few seconds later, and as soon as he opens the pictures he grins. The guy, Brian, is looking at Danny like he hung the fucking moon, and Jackson’s so glad Danny finally found someone so good to him.

“I’m really happy for you, Danny,” he says.

_“Thanks, man. Anyway, enough about me. How’s good old Beacon Hills?”_

“I wouldn’t know, actually. I’m in Seattle right now.”

_“Okay. Explain?”_

“I’m…I’m kind of doing this road trip thing with Stilinski,” he says.

_“You’re…road tripping…with Stilinski. Did I hear that right?”_

Jackson laughs, but he can’t blame him. He still doesn’t believe it himself, sometimes.

“I know, it sounds crazy. But he showed up at my house in the middle of the night and asked me to come with him and I just…did.”

_“Since when do you voluntarily spend more than an hour with Stiles, though?”_

It’s a fair question; one that Jackson doesn’t really know how to answer.

_“Is it…do you…are you into him?”_

“No,” he says, not nearly as quickly as he had intended to. “He’s not so bad, though. We’re helping each other out, I think.”

_“I mean…if you’re happy, I’m happy. Are you? Happy?”_

“It’s not terrible,” Jackson answers honestly.

He’s in the middle of telling Danny what they’ve done since they’ve been here when Stiles comes out of the bathroom, towel slung around his waist.

“Who’re you talking to?” he asks.

“Danny.”

“Ooooh, let me say hi,” Stiles whines.

Jackson tosses the phone at him.

The two of them talk for a few minutes, then he hears Stiles say “Alright, here, say bye to Jackson.”

“Miss you, dude,” Jackson says once he has the phone back.

_“You too. The next time we talk, though, I expect a real explanation about this whole thing, not your bullshit non-answers. Especially about Stiles.”_

Jackson doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just says “Bye, Danny,” and hangs up before Danny can argue.

 

Jackson wakes up in the middle of the night with the distinct feeling that something isn’t right. He looks across the room and sees Stiles’ bed empty and goes into a brief moment of panic, but then he sees Stiles in the little sitting room watching TV.

He breathes out a sigh of relief, then gets out of bed and pads over to sit on the couch opposite Stiles.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks him.

“Never really tried. Just had a bad feeling about it,” Stiles answers.

Jackson nods, because it makes perfect sense to him. “What are we watching?”

“Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.”

“Cool,” Jackson says, putting his feet in Stiles’ lap and leaning back into the couch to get comfortable.

Stiles puts a hand on top of Jackson’s foot almost immediately, like he’s afraid Jackson will move away if he gives him the chance.

“What did you do when you couldn’t sleep?” Stiles asks him.

“I, uh…Lydia helped, mostly,” Jackson says sheepishly. “She’d, you know, stay up with me and talk to me and hold me and just…she was always there.”

“Ah,” Stiles hums. “That must’ve been nice.”

“It was,” he says, hating the awkward vibe hanging in the air. “For the record, Stilinski, I’m…whatever you need, if I can help, I’m here,” he adds, hoping it’ll fix it.

It does. Stiles smiles, says “Thanks, Jackson.”

They’re quiet after that, Stiles rubbing his thumb gently in circles on Jackson’s ankle until they both fall asleep.

 

They check out of the hotel as they leave for Starbucks that morning, figuring they’ll leave for Utah straight from there.

They both get caramel macchiatos, for Scott. Stiles sends him a picture of their cups, and then they decide to walk around Pike Place Market for awhile. They find a collectibles store and Jackson could swear Stiles almost looks excited. He buys him a couple Batman comics to keep him busy during the car ride, and Stiles hugs him a little too long and a little too hard considering he only spent 20 bucks, but Jackson doesn’t mind.

“Gonna let me drive yet?” Stiles asks, but Jackson shakes his head firmly before he’s even done talking.

“Not yet, and not ever,” he says dismissively, pulling his keys out of his pocket and walking toward the driver’s seat.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “You know there’s no way in hell you’re gonna be able to drive this whole trip, right? You’ll go insane.”

“No one drives the Porsche but me,” Jackson insists, pointedly ignoring Stiles’ scoff. “Come on, get your ass in the car.”

 

The comics were a valiant effort, but Stiles blows through them in less than an hour. Once he’s finished with them, he spends most of his time staring vacantly out the window, which bugs Jackson, because he knows if he were with the Stiles from a year ago, it’d be nonstop rambling and road trip games and all that crap Jackson hates. Instead, though, all he gets from him is silence.

He finally talks again when they’re somewhere on the other side of Oregon.

“Hey, can you pull over?”

“Why?” Jackson asks, not even looking up from the road. “I’m on a roll.”

“Stop the fucking car, Jackson,” Stiles says, more urgently this time, and Jackson can hear his heart start to race.

“Okay, it’s okay, I’m stopping,” Jackson says, pulling over as quickly as he can without slamming on the brakes.

Stiles is clambering out of the car before he can even ask what’s wrong. Jackson pulls the keys out of the ignition and follows him without a second thought.

He’s on his knees in the grass, gasping for breath.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he pants, clutching his chest. “I just couldn’t—I can’t—”

“Don’t apologize,” Jackson says, cutting him off. He sits down cross-legged in front of Stiles, looking up at him. “Shut up and breathe with me.”

He takes a long, deep breath in through his nose, then lets it out through his mouth slowly. He does it again, and again, in a steady rhythm, but it barely registers with Stiles. His hands are trembling in his lap, a couple stray tears staining his cheeks, his gaze pointed firmly at the ground.

“Hey, look at me,” Jackson tries, taking Stiles’ hands in his and giving them an encouraging squeeze. To his surprise, Stiles obeys, tilting his head up to look at Jackson with wide eyes.

“Good, that’s good,” Jackson says, smiling at him in a way he hopes is comforting. “Listen, you’re okay. Alright? I’m here, and I’ve got you. You can do this. Breathe with me.”

He starts taking deep breaths again, never breaking eye contact with Stiles, and this time it works. Stiles slowly but surely matches his breathing, and Jackson can hear his heart rate slowing. He lets out a quiet sigh of relief.

“Sorry,” Stiles mutters, taking his hands away from Jackson’s to wipe at his face.

“Quit apologizing, dumbass,” Jackson says, rolling his eyes. “You okay?”

“I’m so far from okay,” Stiles says, brutally honest. “God, I wish I was dead.”

Jackson does his best to ignore the sinking feeling he feels in his stomach. “You know that people would miss you if you were, right?” he asks, purposely vague. He might be one of those people, but he’s sure as hell not going to admit it.

“Yeah, but that’s kind of the problem. I feel like the only reason I’m still living is for them. Like, I wake up in the morning and go through all of this shit again and again because my dad, and Scott, and Lydia, and Malia—they’d all be devastated if I didn’t. And it’s nice to be cared about, but it really sucks to realize that you don’t give a shit whether you’re alive or dead anymore, you know what I mean?”

“Not really,” Jackson admits, shaking his head. “I mean, I had Lydia, but it wasn’t really her that I wanted, as bad as that sounds. I remember purposely acting out to try and get my parents’ attention, like pathetic cries for help or whatever, but they never even noticed something was wrong. All I really had to live for was myself, and my anger.”

Stiles frowns. “It’s weird how we’re the same and so different at the same time,” he says.

Jackson just nods.

“Hey, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry your parents are so shitty to you,” he continues. “You don’t deserve that.”

“Oh, so you didn’t mean it when you told me in fourth grade that if I wasn’t such a butthead, my parents might like me more?” Jackson teases, trying to lighten the mood a little.

“Well, I’m sure I probably meant it at the time,” Stiles answers, his lips turning up into the slightest hint of a smile, and hey, Jackson will take it. “To be fair, you _were_ a butthead.”

“Yeah, I was,” Jackson agrees, chuckling. “Especially to you and McCall.”

“I didn’t really mind,” Stiles says with a shrug. “I was always pushing your buttons on purpose just to get you to pay attention to me.”

And honestly, Jackson doesn’t know what to do with that. He’s too much of a coward to ask, so he just stands up and holds a hand out to Stiles to pull him up. “Come on, we should get back on the road.”

 

Once they’re back in the car, Jackson clears his throat as Stiles is buckling his seatbelt. “You know, if all you’re living for is other people right now, that’s okay,” he starts, resolutely looking anywhere but at Stiles. “Having something is better than having nothing, right? So just focus on them until one day, you’ll be doing it for yourself again.”

He looks at Stiles out of the corner of his eye and sees him nodding. “Yeah. Maybe you’re right,” he says quietly.

Jackson takes that as a victory and looks over at him one more time before starting the car and pulling back onto the road.

 

After another almost six hours of driving, Jackson starts to get a little stir crazy and his legs are majorly cramping, so he suggests they stop in Boise for the night and pick back up tomorrow.

“You know, we’d save so much time if you would just let me drive,” Stiles points out.

“Yeah, well, it’s not like you’re in any hurry to finish this trip,” Jackson retorts, and he can’t help but smirk at how Stiles has no comeback.

“What are we even supposed to do in Boise, anyway?” he grumbles.

Jackson shrugs. “Beats me. Here, book us a hotel and we’ll figure it out from there,” he says, tossing his phone in Stiles’ direction.

“I’m gonna get us the most expensive room I can find,” Stiles says, pausing to stick his tongue out at Jackson before starting to tap around on his phone.

“Go ahead. That’s what I usually do.”

Stiles snorts. “God, being rich must be nice,” he says, shaking his head. “Seriously, though, are you gonna let me pay for anything on this trip?”

“You can’t afford my taste, Stilinski,” Jackson says matter-of-factly.

“Oh yeah? What if I paid you with something other than money? Like sexual favors, maybe?”

That catches Jackson off guard, honestly, but he doesn’t let himself falter.

“Please. Like I would want sex with Beacon Hills’ biggest virgin,” he says, offering Stiles a shit-eating grin.

Stiles, for his part, just rolls his eyes. “At least I’m not Beacon Hills’ biggest whore, like a certain someone else in this car.”

“You know slut shaming stems from jealousy, right?”

Stiles fires back with another insult, and Jackson can’t help but smile to himself as he follows suit, because he’s missed their snarky back-and-forth banter. 

In the end, he lets Stiles have the last word, because God knows he could use a win.

 

“So, where do you want to go?” Jackson asks once they’ve collapsed onto the couch in their new hotel room, bags still slung over their shoulders.

“Mm, we could go somewhere. Or we could stay here and get drunk off this mini bar, since you can afford it and all,” Stiles says, waggling his eyebrows.

Jackson laughs and shakes his head. “Werewolf, remember? Can’t get drunk.”

“Okay, correction. _I_ can get drunk off the mini bar, and _you_ can get drunk off this wolfsbane-laced liquor,” he says as pulls the bottle out of his duffel bag.

“Why did you even bring that?” Jackson asks, brow raised.

“Because getting wasted by myself would be pathetic,” Stiles says, like it’s obvious. “Are you in or not?”

Jackson grabs the bottle from Stiles and takes a long swig as his answer. 

 

Sometimes, Jackson thinks, Stiles almost seems like his old self. For brief moments, it’s almost like nothing’s changed when he’s cracking a stupid joke, or fidgeting with nervous energy in the passenger seat while Jackson’s driving. The thing about the Nogitsune was that it was quiet, and humorless, and calculating, and so very _still_. It was essentially the anti-Stiles, and it had been really awful to watch him act like the very opposite of himself.

The alcohol helps. It loosens him up a little, releases some of that crushing pressure that you can literally see sitting on his shoulders. He almost looks his age again, not like he’s aged ten years in the past six months, like he usually does. He looks…better. _Good_ , even. Like he’s just a normal kid again, and not someone who’s been through more shit than most people could handle.

Jackson’s not sure why he’s thinking so hard about it. Probably because he’s a little too tipsy to stop himself, he figures. He blinks and tries to bring himself back to reality when he vaguely realizes Stiles is talking.

“Huh?” he asks, shaking his head to snap himself out of it.

“What are you thinking about?” Stiles repeats. 

“You,” he answers without thinking. 

Stiles raises his eyebrows. “What about me?”

“Just…is this, like, what you do now?” Jackson asks. “Get drunk to avoid feeling shitty?”

“Kinda,” Stiles answers with a wave of his hand. “I mean, I wouldn’t call myself an alcoholic or anything, but it helps.”

“I’m sorry this is the only way you feel okay,” he says.

“It’s okay. It’s something, at least. Can I ask you something, though?” Stiles asks, continuing once Jackson nods. “What did _you_ do to forget about it?”

Jackson shrugs. “I don’t know. I exercised, I guess. I’d go for runs all the time, usually in the middle of the night. And I’d get stoned a lot,” he admitted.

Stiles’ jaw drops as he gasps dramatically. “ _Jackson Whittemore_ , a secret stoner?”

“Shut up,” Jackson says, nudging Stiles with his shoulder.

“No way. I don’t believe you,” Stiles continues, shaking his head. “You think weed is for losers and high school dropouts who don’t have anything better to do with their time.”

“Yeah, well, technically, we’re both soon-to-be high school dropouts,” Jackson points out.

“Oh, shit, you’re right,” Stiles says, and they both laugh. “God, what are we gonna do?”

“Smoke weed?” Jackson jokes, and Stiles snorts. “I don’t know. At least we’re in it together, though.”

Stiles nods, and the smile that spreads across his face is 100% genuine. Jackson wishes he could see it more often.

“Hey, Jackson?”

“Yeah?” he asks.

“It’s not.”

Jackson furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “What’s not?”

“Drinking’s not the _only_ way I feel okay,” Stiles clarifies, looking down at the floor to avoid Jackson’s gaze. “This past week, running away from all of it, getting the hell out of that town with you…I know it may not seem like it, but I feel better than I have in a long time.”

It’s Jackson’s turn to grin. “I’m really glad, man,” he says with complete honesty. 

 

They’re both sprawled out on the floor watching Captain America on demand when Stiles perks up and starts poking him. “Jacks.”

“Don’t call me that,” Jackson says, and it comes out a little slurred.

Stiles frowns, but complies. “Fine. _Jackson_.” 

“What?”

“I’m bored. Let’s do something. Ooh, let’s go to the pool,” Stiles says, but his eyes go wide as soon as the words leave his mouth. “Shit, fuck, I’m sorry, do you still not…?” He trails off, unsure of exactly what to say.

Jackson just shakes his head. “It’s fine, Stilinski. It was Matt that was afraid of drowning, not me, remember?” he says, chuckling. “You do know I’m on the swim team, right?”

“Whatever. Asshole,” Stiles grumbles. He grabs the bottle with one hand and holds the other out to Jackson. “Come on, let’s go.”

Jackson allows himself to be pulled up and led out of the room with no complaints.

He only stays hand in hand with Stiles the entire way because they’re both drunk as hell and walking is easier that way. 

 

“So you’re not gonna try to kill me this time and leave me struggling to keep myself and a paralyzed, not to mention much bigger and heavier friend of mine, from drowning, right?” Stiles jokes once they get down to the pool.

Jackson tries to glare, but he just ends up laughing. “You’re such a dick,” he says, shaking his head.

“So I’ve been told,” Stiles says nonchalantly as he pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it to the ground.

Jackson doesn’t mean to check Stiles out, he really doesn’t, but he’s only human. He can’t help but let his gaze drift down Stiles’ chest, because seriously, when did he get this hot?

He busies himself with stripping down to his underwear, and he doesn’t miss the way Stiles looks him up and down, too.

“Jesus, you’re unbelievable. You belong in a fucking magazine,” he scoffs before downing an impressive amount of their whiskey.

Jackson can’t help but smirk. “Finally willing to admit that you’re into me, huh?” he asks, then grabs the bottle from Stiles. “Hey. Share.”

He takes another long drink and barely has time to set the bottle back down before Stiles is pushing him into the pool.

Stiles is laughing when Jackson comes back up, and he can’t help but do the same. He retaliates by grabbing Stiles’ foot and pulling him in with him.

“Seriously, though,” Stiles continues, like nothing had even happened. “You make straight A’s, you’re captain of the lacrosse team _and_ the swim team, you’re filthy rich, _and_ you’re hot as fuck? How is that even fair? You really know how to make a guy feel inadequate, man.”

“And _you_ really know how to wax poetic about me, huh, Stilinski?” Jackson teases, grinning.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I can wax poetic about pretty much anyone. I appreciate all beauty. Don’t think you’re special,” Stiles retorts, splashing Jackson for good measure.

“Hey, for what it’s worth, you’re, like…really hot, too,” Jackson says, because he can tell Stiles is getting embarrassed and it’s about time he admitted it, anyway. “I don’t think you realize it, but you seriously are, so.”

Stiles just blinks at him in surprise. “I…you really think that?”

“Swear to God,” Jackson answers easily. “Believe me, you have nothing to feel inadequate about.”

Stiles’ blush goes from his cheeks all the way down his neck to his chest, and Jackson kind of likes that _he_ did that.

Instead of answering, he challenges Jackson to a race across the pool. Jackson lets him change the subject, but he sure as hell doesn’t let him win the race. 

 

He doesn't really remember getting back up to the hotel room, but when he startles awake in the middle of the night, he takes a moment to be thankful they managed to do so rather than passing out by the pool. 

Once he's more alert, he realizes what woke him up--Stiles is crying. 

Jackson freezes, hesitating. He has no idea what he's supposed to do here, but he's still just drunk enough to have the guts to do _something_. 

“Stilinski,” he mumbles, voice quiet and rough. 

He hears Stiles’ surprised gasp, but other than that he stays silent. 

“Hey,” Jackson tries again, a little more sure of himself. “What's up?”

He can't see Stiles, but he can feel the anxiety rolling off him in waves. 

“Just a nightmare,” he whispers finally, so quiet that if it wasn't for Jackson’s enhanced hearing, he probably would've missed it. “Go back to sleep.” 

“I can't go back to sleep when you're crying, dumbass,” Jackson says, but there's no heat behind it. “What do you need?”

Stiles is quiet again. 

“Come on,” Jackson prods. “What usually helps?”

“Nothing, really,” Stiles answers. “The only thing that ever really works is when my dad holds me through them.”

Jackson hesitates for a few moments, but he ultimately decides, fuck it. He gets out of his bed and pads across the room to climb into Stiles’ and lays down next to him. 

He places an arm around Stiles gently, feeling awkward as all hell, and asks, “Like this?”

“You don't have to do this, Jackson.”

“Shut up,” Jackson says. “How does he do it?”

Stiles sighs, but gives in. “Kind of like spooning, but he keeps both arms around me. Really tight, to keep me, like, grounded.”

Jackson repositions so he's holding Stiles like he described, and he can feel his anxiety start to subside almost instantly. 

“Better?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer. 

“Yeah,” Stiles mumbles, and Jackson can tell he's mortified. “Thanks.”

“Don't worry about it,” Jackson says, trying his best to be reassuring. “Just get some rest, okay?” 

Stiles hums in agreement and leans back a little closer against Jackson. 

They both sleep soundly through the rest of the night. 

 

When Jackson wakes up the next morning, Stiles is back across the room, but he expected as much. 

 

They decide to stay in Boise for one more day, because they're both too hungover to even think about dealing with the world. 

When they're getting ready for bed that night, Jackson gathers up all the courage he can muster and slips into Stiles’ bed with him. 

“It wasn't just because I was drinking,” he says before Stiles has a chance to protest. “I want to help.”

He wraps his arms tightly around Stiles, and he can't help but acknowledge that it already feels familiar. 

 

They get up early the next morning, since they have a nearly twelve-hour trip ahead of them, and Stiles isn’t happy about it. Jackson laughs at him and takes pictures of him falling asleep while they’re eating breakfast, posting them on Snapchat for everyone to see, of course. Stiles scowls, but scoots closer to Jackson and wraps an arm around him before taking a selfie to send to Scott. 

 

They’re somewhere in Utah when the sun starts setting, and it’s so beautiful Jackson can’t help but pull over and stop the car. 

“What’s wrong?” Stiles asks, brows furrowed as he looks over at Jackson.

“Nothing. Come on,” he answers as he gets out of the car. He grabs a blanket out of the trunk of his car and spreads it out over the grass before laying down. He looks up at Stiles and pats the spot next to him. 

Stiles obliges and lays down next to Jackson, close enough that their shoulders are touching. 

“Who knew you were such a romantic?” he teases, and Jackson chuckles.

“Whatever. I like sunsets,” he says, smiling softly as he looks up at the horizon.

“Is this, like, your move? Take a cute girl out to the middle of nowhere to watch the sunset, show her your soft side, then make out with her, or maybe even fuck her, right on this very blanket? Because I can definitely see the appeal.”

Jackson’s not even really sure why, but suddenly he’s embarrassed. He clears his throat and hopes Stiles doesn’t look over at him and see his flushed cheeks.

“We’re back to slut shaming, huh?”

“Not shaming, just curious. And you’re avoiding the question,” Stiles counters. 

“I don’t need a move to get a girl, Stilinski,” Jackson says, hoping he sounds as confident as he’s pretending to be. “For your information, I used to do this with Erica, and Isaac, and Boyd. Sometimes Cora and Derek, if we could drag them out there.”

“Oh,” Stiles says quietly. “Shit, sorry.”

“It’s cool. We didn’t get along most of the time, and our pack was kind of a shit show, but we always had our sunsets. They drove me crazy, but I miss them,” Jackson admits. 

“They all deserved better,” Stiles agrees.

“Yeah.” Jackson’s quiet for a minute, then decides to change the subject before he has to think about them too much. “So, you gonna tell me why you’re so obsessed with my sex life?”

He looks over at Stiles just in time to see him roll his eyes. “I’m not obsessed. It just doesn’t make sense to me,” he says. 

“What doesn’t?” Jackson asks. 

“How you can just give up control like that, especially to someone you don’t know very well, after...you know.”

For a brief moment, he feels a twinge of disappointment that _that’s_ the only reason Stiles is interested, but he pushes that away real quick. 

“If it makes you feel any better, I couldn’t for a long time. That’s why Lydia and I broke up. She didn’t understand that I just couldn’t let myself go like that. She thought I was over her.”

Stiles nods, like he completely gets it. 

“Is that what happened with you and Malia?”

“Not exactly,” Stiles says. “She said she just thought we’d be better as friends, but I know it’s because I changed. I wasn’t myself enough anymore.”

“That’s shitty,” Jackson says, shaking his head.

“Kinda, but I don’t blame her. Crippling depression and complete loss of the will to live wasn’t what she signed up for.”

“I’m sorry, for what it’s worth,” Jackson offers. 

“It’s okay. She’s just too normal. I need someone as damaged and fucked up as me,” Stiles says with a humorless laugh. 

Jackson has no idea what to say to that, so he lets them fall into a semi-comfortable silence as they look up at the sky.

 

He gets them a queen instead of two fulls in their hotel room so that Stiles knows he's cool with the whole bed-sharing thing, even though it's still a little bit awkward for the both of them. 

He slips out of the room to call Danny while Stiles is in the shower. 

_“Hey, man. How's it going?”_

“Good,” Jackson says, smiling at the sound of Danny’s voice. “We’re in Utah. We're going to see the Four Corners tomorrow.” 

_“That sounds fun. And how are things with your boy?”_

Jackson rolls his eyes. “Not my boy, but that's kind of why I'm calling.” 

_“Oh, shit,”_ Danny says, and he sounds genuinely surprised. _“You really do like him, don't you?”_

“I'm not...I don't know,” he says, because it's about time he admitted it. 

_“Alright, tell me everything.”_

“I mean, there's definitely flirting. On both ends. We got drunk together and I kinda got a little sappy about him. He's always asking about my love life and all the girls I've been with, kind of like he's jealous, but he always seems to have a reason for it, so I don't know. Also, we’re kind of sleeping together.”

_“Okay, wait. What?”_

“I mean, not _sleeping together_ ,” Jackson clarifies. “Like, literally sleeping together. In the same bed.”

_“Whoa. How did that happen?”_ Danny asks. 

“He has trouble sleeping because of, you know, everything that happened. It's hard for him to fall asleep, and even when he does, he has these really shitty nightmares. It helps when someone holds him, so...that's what I do.”

_“And have you two talked about any of this?”_

“Not really,” Jackson answers honestly. “We've kind of just been ignoring all of it, for the most part.” 

_“Sounds about right for the two of you,”_ Danny says, and then laughs. _“So what are you thinking? Are you gonna go for it?”_

“Hell no,” Jackson says quickly. “It's just the two of us together, 24/7. Talk about awkward if he shot me down.”

_“Since when have you been too afraid to take a shot, though?”_

“I just…I don't wanna mess this up, you know?” he says, hating how pathetic he sounds, because Danny’s right. When it comes to stuff like this, he's always acted first and thought later, and never really cared about the consequences. “He needs me, Danny. And honestly? I kind of need him too.”

_“The Nogitsune/kanima thing, right?”_

“Yeah. It's just so easy. He always knows exactly what I'm talking about. Even the darkest shit that I didn't think I would ever be able to talk to anyone about...he gets.”

_“I'm glad you have that, man. I always felt bad that I didn't really understand,”_ Danny says, and seriously, only Danny would feel guilty about not being able to relate to the trauma of being possessed. _“So what are you gonna do, then?”_

“Nothing. Suffer, I guess.”

_“I never thought I'd see the day that Jackson Whittemore pined over someone.”_

Jackson snorts. “Shut up, jackass. You've been no help, as usual.”

_“That's what I'm here for,”_ Danny says, and Jackson can hear the grin in his voice. 

“Seriously, though, thanks for listening. I miss you, man.”

_“Miss you too. Come and visit me sometime, okay? Bring Stiles if you want.”_

“We’ll see,” Jackson says, chuckling. “Bye, Danny.”

 

When Jackson gets back up to their room, Stiles is already in bed watching TV. 

“Danny?” he asks as Jackson changes out of his clothes and then climbs into bed. 

“Yeah. He says hi.” 

“Cool.” Stiles doesn't look away from the TV, but he does tilt his head to rest on Jackson’s shoulder once he's situated in bed. 

It's not weird at all, which kind of makes it weird. 

 

For how long it took them to get to the Four Corners, Jackson expected something a little bit more exciting. 

Sure, it's cool in theory, to be in four different places at once, but ultimately...it's just a spot on the ground. 

Stiles is really excited about it, though, so Jackson bites his tongue, because he doesn't get excited by a whole hell of a lot these days. 

They take selfies in all four states, and Stiles poses for one where he's starfished across all of them. Jackson can't help but laugh fondly at him. 

He gets someone else to take one of the two of them, Jackson standing in New Mexico and Arizona and Stiles in Utah and Colorado. At the last second, he reaches out to hold Stiles’ hands, because whatever. It's a cute picture. 

 

“Did you know I've never left California before this?” Stiles asks once they've taken all their pictures and are hanging out on one of the benches, drinking soda and people watching. 

“Really?” 

“Nope. We've never really had the money to take vacations,” Stiles says. “What about you, rich boy? Where've you been?”

“Mm, not much of anywhere in the country. Barcelona, London, and Venice, briefly, but I've spent a lot of time in Paris. My parents go there for work a lot, so I'll hitch a ride with them and then leave them once we get there,” Jackson says, chuckling. “I've spent the past three summers there.” 

“No way. Do you speak French?” he asks. 

“Bien sûr. Il est bien mieux que l’Anglais,” Jackson answers easily. 

Stiles gets this kind of dreamy look in his eyes, and Jackson can't help but grin. 

“You're literally, like, the perfect dream guy,” he says, shaking his head. “I can't even deal with you.”

“You flatter me, Stilinski.” He winks and nudges Stiles with his elbow. 

“Yeah, yeah. Don't let it go to your head,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes. “Thanks for getting me the hell out of there.” 

“I'm glad you asked me. I’d been looking for an excuse to get away from my parents for weeks,” he admits. 

“You guys really don’t get along, do you?” 

Jackson shrugs. “We don't really talk at all, except for when we're fighting. They expect me to be this perfect son that makes them look good, but the only time they say more than two words to me is when they tell me how much I've disappointed them. They think that adopting me and giving me access to their bank account gives them the right to treat me like shit.”

He glances over at Stiles and sees that he's thinking hard, like he's putting together the pieces of the puzzle that is Jackson’s life. 

“So that's why you're so competitive to the point that you're kind of an asshole about it?” he asks. 

Jackson laughs, but nods. “Yeah.”

“And why you spend their money so recklessly?”

“Pretty much.” 

Stiles is quiet for a minute, but then he hooks his foot around Jackson’s ankle. 

“I'm sorry. You deserve better than that.”

“It's cool. Honestly, the minute I turn 18 I'm planning on taking my trust fund and running,” Jackson says, smiling when Stiles laughs. “Play your cards right and maybe I'll take you to France to celebrate.”

“That's an idea I can get behind,” Stiles says. He grins and clinks their soda cans together before starting to list all the things he wants to do in Paris. 

 

It wasn’t on Stiles’ original list, but Jackson makes an executive decision that they’re going to the Grand Canyon, because they’re already in Arizona and he’s always wanted to see it. 

They’ve been in the car a couple hours when Jackson looks over at Stiles, because it’s been quiet for a little too long. 

“Stilinski,” he says, trying to get his attention.

Stiles blinks. “Hm?”

“What’re you thinking about?” Jackson asks. 

He hesitates for a moment.

“Allison.”

Jackson’s heart drops into his stomach. It’s a tough subject for all of them, even him. Just hearing her name makes him miss her smile and her kindness and the warmth that literally radiated from her. 

“I still text her sometimes,” Stiles continues. “Tell her what’s new, update her on the shows we used to watch together, send her stupid memes I know would make her laugh.”

Jackson would be lying if he said he hadn’t done the same thing once or twice. 

“She was the best of us. She’s the last person that deserved what she got,” he says, because he can’t muster much else.

“Yeah.” Stiles sighs before continuing. “I just wasted so much time hating her, you know? I was jealous that Scott had found someone before me, and I was pissed that he started ditching me to hang out with her. But I couldn’t hate Scott, so I blamed it all on her. And it was so fucking stupid, man. It was stupid and immature and _so much time_ that I could have spent with her. She...she was my best friend, after Scott. She was my best friend, and I killed her.”

“The nogitsune made you kill her,” Jackson corrects him. 

“What does it matter, Jackson? She’s gone.” His voice cracks mid-sentence, and Jackson’s heart breaks a little bit.

“You’re right. She’s gone, and it sucks,” he says, struggling to keep his own voice steady. “But take it from someone who’s spent his whole life hating people for stupid reasons, or for no reason at all. People tend to catch on that you’re full of shit. They figure out that it’s just an act, walls that you put up. She knew how much you loved her, Stilinski. I promise.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Stiles says, and Jackson has to redirect his attention to the road, because the blank look in Stiles’ eyes is unsettling. “I wish it had been me. I wish I could take her place.”

Jackson nods, because he can definitely relate. “Yeah. I know that feeling.”

“God, I don’t know how you do it,” Stiles says, shaking his head. “What’s the point, man? What’s the fucking point of anything?”

“Beats me,” Jackson says with a shrug. “If I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”

 

The Grand Canyon is absolutely breathtaking. What's even better, though, is the look of complete awe on Stiles' typically emotionless face.

“Wow. This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Stiles breathes in a reverent tone. 

“What about me?” Jackson jokes, pretending to be offended.

Stiles snorts. “Believe me, dude, I’m as surprised as you are.”

Jackson bites back a smile, but he can’t help but tease him. “Aw, so up until this moment, I was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know it, Mr. ‘I’m Everyone’s Type.’ You’re also the most self-centered jackass I’ve ever seen, and I don’t think anything will ever rob you of that one,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes.

“Maybe not. You’re a close second, though,” Jackson points out smugly. 

“Okay, yeah, you’re not wrong,” Stiles admits, laughing.

They’re quiet for a few minutes, snapping some pictures and admiring the view, and Jackson thinks that maybe this is the point. That maybe all the bullshit they go through brings them to moments like this, with gorgeous views and people that make the world a little more bearable.

The ‘obligatory selfie from every place they go’ they take here is Jackson’s favorite so far, because Stiles is actually smiling. 

 

Jackson’s parents finally call when they’re somewhere in New Mexico. 

For a minute, he thinks he’s seeing things when he reads _Dad_ on the incoming call screen. They’ve been gone for weeks, so why now?

He pretty much knows how the conversation’s gonna go, but there’s always a part of him that wants to believe that maybe this time will be different. Maybe they’ll say they’re worried about him, and they miss him, and they want him to come home. 

So he answers it, because he’s a fucking idiot. 

It’s not different. They tell him he’s being stupid, he can’t just _not_ finish high school, and he needs to get his ass back here while they can still fix it because he’s _embarrassing them_. 

Jackson loses his shit. 

“I’m so fucking _sorry_ that my pain and suffering is an inconvenience to you,” he yells, and it wakes Stiles up from his nap in the passenger seat, which is just perfect. Now he gets to do this with an audience. “You do know that I’m severely depressed, right? That I’ve spent the last year and a half wishing I was dead? Or do you really not know? Did you not even notice?”

The silence he’s met with is answer enough. 

“God, fuck you,” he says, shaking his head.

His mom starts talking then, tells him that they’re still his parents and he needs to listen to them if he wants them to “support him,” which is her way of saying “throw money at him and act like they’re taking care of him.”

“You guys aren’t my parents. You’re nothing to me,” Jackson says, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. “You can keep your house, and your money, and your whole fucking town, okay? I don’t want it.”

He slams his phone down in the cupholder and clears his throat. 

“It’s fine,” he says to Stiles. “Don’t worry. I have money of my own. We’ll be okay.”

Stiles looks at him like he’s crazy. “That’s...not what I’m worried about, dumbass,” he says, shaking his head. “Pull over.”

Jackson doesn’t have it in him to argue anymore, so he does as he’s told. His whole body’s shaking, and he refuses to meet Stiles’ eyes. 

“Please let me drive,” Stiles says quietly. 

Jackson’s not in any state to drive, and he’s not about to cry out here in the middle of the interstate, so he nods. “Okay.”

 

They only drive for maybe ten minutes, but Stiles holds his hand so tight it starts to lose feeling. He stops at the first motel they see and gets them a room and leads Jackson inside. 

“Okay,” he says as he shuts the door and turns to face Jackson. “I only heard half of that conversation, but it sounded...really bad. What happened?”

Jackson just stares blankly at him. 

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Stiles offers instead. 

With absolutely no warning, Jackson falls to the floor and starts sobbing. 

Stiles hovers over him for a minute, clearly unsure of what to do, but he snaps himself out of it and kneels down next to Jackson. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says quietly. “Come on, talk to me.”

“I don’t get it,” Jackson chokes out, hating how wrecked he sounds. “It’s not like they got knocked up on accident and they got stuck with me. They fucking _adopted_ me, they _voluntarily_ took me in. Why would they do that if they didn’t want me?”

Stiles wraps an arm around Jackson and pulls him against his chest, and Jackson doesn’t fight it. It’s nice to have someone to cry on for a change. 

“I don’t know, man,” Stiles says, rubbing Jackson’s back as he talks. “You’re totally right, and it’s not fair. You deserve better.” 

“I’ve never been good enough for them,” Jackson mumbles. 

“Hey, listen to me. They have impossible standards, and they’re miserable people that are never gonna be happy, but that doesn’t have anything to do with you. You’re so much more than good enough. You’re as close to perfect as it gets, Jacks.”

“Yeah?” Jackson hates that he doesn’t believe a word of it, but he’s been hurt so many times by so many people that he doesn’t really trust anyone anymore. 

“Yeah,” Stiles says, nodding. “They’re out of their goddamn minds for not wanting you. And I know it’s not the same, but for what it’s worth...I want you.”

Jackson blinks away tears and looks up at Stiles, and he looks nothing but completely genuine. It’s only then that Jackson remembers he has a built-in lie detector, and Stiles’ heartbeat never faltered. 

 

After that, things are different. It’s subtle, but Jackson picks up on it. If he had to guess, he’d say that Stiles seeing him cry kind of humanized him in Stiles’ eyes, made him see that Jackson’s still struggling too and he’s not alone. 

Normally, Jackson would hate showing that side of himself to anyone. In fact, he’s pretty sure he’s never cried in front of someone else, ever. But Stiles saw him at his lowest point and he didn’t laugh at him, or judge him, or think he was weak. He stayed, and really, that’s all Jackson’s ever wanted; someone he can be his authentic self with, not the picture perfect version of himself that everyone else knows. 

Stiles seems to get a little more comfortable around him, and in turn, more tactile. Not that their boundaries were ever particularly well-defined before, but now he’ll hook a foot around Jackson’s ankle under the table when they’re eating breakfast, or glue himself to Jackson’s side while they hang out and watch TV, or even take him by the hand and walk down the street with their fingers laced together. 

And for the first time in his life, Jackson does the same. He allows himself to seek out comfort when he needs it, or even just when he wants it, because he knows Stiles will always give it to him without question. 

He tells Jackson that it’s time they start slumming it a little, because it’s probably only a matter of time before the Whittemores’ credit cards start getting declined. He tries to protest, but Stiles tells him not to worry, that he’ll take care of his favorite privileged pretty boy. And he smiles and brushes his fingers against Jackson’s jaw, and it’s so fucking soft and gentle that it makes his heart stutter in his chest. 

He’s grateful that Stiles can’t hear it, because Jackson’s certain he’d probably never let him live it down. 

 

Once they get to Albuquerque, Jackson lets slip that he’s never actually seen Breaking Bad, and Stiles isn’t having any of that. They spend the better part of a week holed up in their shitty motel room binge watching it, and honestly, it’s perfect. 

They do go out a couple of times to see the sights, go on a Jeep tour and a few hot air balloon rides, but the majority of their time is spent cuddled up together in bed while they watch. Jackson gets a little addicted to the way Stiles runs his fingers through his hair absentmindedly, and the small, satisfied hums he draws out of Stiles when he presses in close to him and nuzzles his neck. 

It’s comfortable. God, it’s so comfortable. It feels like this is how it was always supposed to be, just the two of them against the world. 

When they finally do make it to the Breaking Bad tour, it’s actually a lot of fun. Stiles almost seems like his old self, rambling on about useless trivia and fidgeting in excitement, and Jackson’s really glad to see it. They take tons of pictures and act out scenes at all the different locations and they both laugh more than they have in a long time. 

Stiles calls his dad when they get back. He’s still not very happy with either of them, but he tells them that he understands why they left, that he knows they’re doing what’s best for them, that he hopes they’re okay. Both of them. Jackson would be jealous of that level of unconditional love he’s never had, but it’s really nice to be included in the sentiment. 

“I had a really good day today,” Stiles says that night when they’re laying in bed. 

“Yeah?” Jackson asks, smiling when Stiles hums in affirmation. “Me too.” 

 

He kisses Stiles at a gas station in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, Texas, just to piss someone off.

They’re inside getting snacks for the road. Jackson reaches for his wallet while they’re standing in line, but Stiles covers his hand with his own and says “Let me get it, Jacks. You’ve been paying for everything.” He smiles and brushes his thumb across Jackson’s knuckles.

It’s nothing. Less than nothing. But somehow it’s enough to offend the guy behind them in line to the point that he rolls his eyes and mutters under his breath about how he shouldn’t have to watch this shit.

It makes Jackson furious. 

“You have a problem, jackass?” he asks the guy.

Before he has a chance to answer, Jackson turns back to Stiles, cups his face with both hands, and kisses him. It’s not much, but he does let himself linger for a beat. When he pulls away, he wants more. 

“I got it, baby,” he tells Stiles. He pays for their stuff and the guy’s cigarettes, too, just to have the last word.

 

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have just done that,” Jackson says once they’re back in the car and on the way to San Antonio. “He just made me so mad, I didn’t even think about it.”

“Are you kidding me? That was awesome,” Stiles replies, and, huh. Jackson hadn’t been expecting that.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah. You totally shut him down. You’re kind of a badass, Whittemore.”

Jackson laughs. It’s not exactly the answer he was hoping for, but he’ll take it. 

 

Stiles starts to kind of distance himself from him after the kiss. 

It’s not necessarily unusual for him; sometimes, when he’s having a particularly bad day and he wants to punish himself, he goes off on his own and spends the day alone with nothing but his thoughts for company. By the next day, though, he’s always back at Jackson’s side, and this is going on three days now and there’s still an awkward atmosphere in the air. Jackson knows it’s because of what he did, and he hates it, and he has to fix it.

“Stilinski, talk to me,” he says over dinner that night. They’re at some shitty diner, sitting right across from each other, but not saying anything. “I’m sorry, okay?”

Stiles pauses from his burger and looks up at Jackson, squinting. “Wait, why? For what?”

Jackson sighs, because of course he’s gonna make him say it. Drive the knife through him again, like it didn’t hurt enough the first time once he realized Stiles didn’t want him.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you without your permission like that, especially knowing what you’ve been through. I’m sorry for that, really, but it doesn’t need to be weird like this. We can just pretend it never happened, and I’ll get over it, okay? I get the message.”

“Jacks, no, hang on, you’ve got it all wrong,” Stiles says, shaking his head. “It’s not that. I liked kissing you. God, I _loved_ kissing you.”

Jackson tries not to, but he finds himself getting his hopes up anyway. “Okay, but?”

“But I can’t give you what you want.”

“What does that mean?” Jackson asks, but Stiles stays silent. His heart rate skyrockets and Jackson can feel his anxiety seep into the air. 

“Stiles,” he prompts, reaching across the table to take his hand. “It’s okay, whatever it is, just talk to me.”

“I’m just...I don’t think I’m ready to have sex again, you know? Like, Malia would push me onto the bed and climb on top of me and I couldn’t breathe. I felt like someone was taking control of me again, and I don’t know how long it’s gonna take before I feel okay with it, but I can’t ask you to just wait until that time comes.”

“You’re an idiot,” Jackson tells him, but it’s fond. “I don’t have to have sex to be happy.”

Stiles just gives him a pointed look. “You’ve slept with at least half the girls in our class, dude.”

“I slept with them to try to have a real connection with somebody, dumbass. To feel something,” Jackson says, squeezing Stiles’ hand and looking him in the eye with all the sincerity he can muster. “We don’t have to have sex for me to feel something with you. You make me feel more than I’ve ever felt in my life.”

Stiles, for once, is effectively stunned to silence. “I’m...I do?” he manages after a few moments, and Jackson just nods. 

“You do,” he says, smirking at the blush that colors Stiles’ cheeks. “I don’t care if we have sex a week from now, or a year from now, or never, okay? I wanna be with you because you understand me, and you’re there for me, and I feel like the best version of myself when I’m around you. That’s it.”

The smile he gets from Stiles in response is blinding.

 

When they get back to their motel room, Stiles backs himself against the wall and pulls Jackson in for a kiss, and as _perfect_ as that is, Jackson shuts it down before he loses the ability to think straight.

“Hey, for what it’s worth,” he starts, pressing a gentle kiss to Stiles’ jaw, “Malia was probably pretty dominant and demanding, but that’s not how we have to do this. You can take charge, okay? We can go as fast or as slow as you want, but it’s up to you to decide. You’re in control, always.”

He flips them around so Stiles is the one pinning him against the wall. Stiles visibly relaxes, but he still looks at him with uncertainty. 

“You sure?” he asks. 

“Yeah. I trust you,” Jackson says without hesitation, and it kind of terrifies him how much he means it. 

But then Stiles loosens his grip on Jackson’s hips and leans in to give him what’s probably the softest, sweetest kiss he’s ever had, and Jackson knows he put his faith in the right person.

They spend the better part of an hour just kissing, and honestly, Jackson’s never really had that with anyone. He’s never kissed someone with no agenda, just to be close to one another, rather than the sole purpose of getting off. He definitely gets hard; they both do, but they don’t pay any attention to it. They don’t need to. Jackson could do this forever. 

When they finally pull away, Stiles just smiles shyly at him and says “Wanna watch a movie?”

Jackson nods, and they get into their pajamas and squeeze themselves onto the too-small couch together. They feed each other popcorn until they can’t eat anymore, and Stiles spoons him once they settle down and get comfortable. 

It’s the best first date Jackson’s ever had. 

 

Jackson flies Scott down for the weekend of Stiles’ birthday.

Honestly, it’s kind of a shot in the dark; he has no idea how Stiles is going to react, but he does know how much they miss each other, so he figures that will outweigh any anger Stiles may feel toward Jackson for springing it on him.

He leaves early, before Stiles wakes up, to go pick Scott up from the airport. He’s expecting an awkward hello and an uncomfortably silent car ride, but to his surprise, Scott smiles when he sees him and pulls him in for a hug.

“Hey, thanks for this,” he says, patting Jackson’s shoulder. “And for everything else. For looking after Stiles.”

“Yeah, of course,” Jackson says.

“So, how’s he doing?” Scott asks once they make it back to the car. 

Jackson shrugs. “Better. The distance has helped him a lot.”

“I get that,” Scott says with a sigh. “I just wish he hadn’t run like that, without saying anything to any of us.”

“Don’t hold it against him,” Jackson says, feeling protective of Stiles. “He went through some really rough shit that’s impossible to deal with, and believe me, I would take away all his pain if I could, but we’re working through it. So just be patient with him, okay?”

Scott nods. He gives Jackson a look, like he’s trying to figure out when exactly he started caring enough about Stiles for them to become a we. He doesn’t ask, though, so Jackson doesn’t answer.

 

He lets Scott knock on the door when they get back to their motel room. Stiles opens the door mid-yawn, which is annoyingly endearing, considering it’s almost noon now. 

It takes him a few seconds to wake up enough to register what’s happening, but then he breaks out in a grin and gives Scott a hug. He doesn’t let him go for a solid minute or so, holding him tight. 

When he finally releases his hold on Scott, he takes Jackson’s hands instead. 

“Thank you,” Stiles says, pulling him in for a kiss.

Jackson hums happily against his lips. “Happy birthday,” he mumbles, smiling softly at Stiles.

Scott looks surprised, but he doesn’t say anything.

 

It doesn’t take long for Jackson to remember why he used to hate Stiles and Scott so much. As soon as they’re together, it’s like they were never apart. They’re inseparable, off in their own little world, and completely blind to everyone around them. They have hundreds of inside jokes and so many years of friendship and Jackson can’t compete with that. 

He’s trying not to sulk, because he knows it’s Stiles’ best friend and this is good for him, but he may or may not be glaring at Scott from across the room. He’s not perfect, okay? 

It doesn’t take Scott long to pick up on it, because of course. He’s been oblivious to everything his whole life but he chooses now to notice Jackson being petty. 

“Hey, Stiles, I think your boyfriend’s jealous,” he says, chuckling, and Jackson could kill him. 

Stiles, for his part, just laughs and rolls his eyes. 

“Shut up, he is not,” he says, but then he turns his head to look at Jackson and stops in his tracks. “Oh my god, wait, you totally are. Jacks, come here.”

Jackson huffs and shoots him a half hearted “screw you,” but he goes anyway. Stiles just coos at him and pulls him into his lap. 

“You know you have nothing to worry about, right? You’re the only guy for me,” he says, wrapping his arms around Jackson and kissing his cheek. 

Jackson sighs in contentment, leans into the touch. “Hey, to be fair, I wasn’t the only one who used to think you guys were hooking up.”

“Nah. We came close a couple times, but even when he was completely wasted, Stiles was adamant you were gonna be the first guy he kissed,” Scott says, like it’s nothing. 

For a second, Jackson is sure he’s messing with him, but judging by how hard Stiles blushes, he’s clearly not. 

“What a loser,” Jackson teases, grinning. 

“Yeah, yeah, thanks so much for that, Scott,” Stiles says sarcastically. He kicks Scott in the shin, then turns back to Jackson and shrugs. “I didn’t actually think it was ever gonna happen, but I knew what I wanted.”

“And now I’m your boyfriend, apparently,” Jackson says, because this is the first time they’ve actually said it. He’s not complaining, though. 

“I was kinda hoping you were, yeah.” 

Jackson just nods and smiles, turning in Stiles’ arms so he can kiss him. 

 

Scott gets his own room to sleep in so he and Stiles can be alone together, which Jackson is grateful for. 

“Hey, seriously, you know I’m not into Scott, right?” Stiles asks him when they’re laying in bed. He’s running his fingers through Jackson’s hair gently. 

“No, I know. I’m more jealous of your friendship than anything,” Jackson admits. “I wanna know you as well as he knows you.” 

Stiles smiles at that, gives Jackson a kiss on the forehead. “You know me pretty well, Jacks. You definitely know stuff about me that Scott doesn’t know.”

”Yeah, but I don’t want us to have nothing in common other than what happened to us, you know? I wanna know normal stuff about you too.”

“What do you wanna know, babe?” Stiles asks, and Jackson loves the way that sounds. 

“I don’t know, like your favorite band, or how you like your coffee, or how you feel about pineapple on pizza, or what you wanted to be when you grew up when you were a kid. Anything,” Jackson says. 

Stiles turns on his side so he’s facing Jackson, and then nudges him until he does the same. They’re close enough that their noses brush, and Jackson can feel him breathing. 

“All Time Low, super sweet and preferably with vanilla, big fan, third base for the Mets. You?”

Jackson smiles and gives his answers, and then Stiles asks him some questions of his own. They stay up for hours talking, learning random facts about each other. Jackson carefully catalogs each one into his memory, because he knows Stiles doesn’t open up to just anyone, and he doesn’t want to take it for granted. 

Stiles teaches him how to say his real name, and he doesn’t make fun of Jackson when he completely butchers it the first few tries. Once he gets it right, Stiles smiles a little sadly and kisses him gently. 

“No one’s called me that since my mom,” he says quietly. 

Jackson softens at that, cups Stiles’ face with his hand. “Is she the one who named you?” 

Stiles leans into Jackson’s touch and nods. “She always told me I should be proud of my name, that everyone could get over it and learn how to say it, but I was a dumb kid and I was always embarrassed about it. Then after she died I just kind of completely dropped it, because she was the only one that ever really called me that and it was too hard to hear it from anybody else.” 

“I think it’s pretty,” Jackson says, brushing his thumb against Stiles’ cheek. 

“I like the way you say it,” Stiles mumbles. 

“Mieczyslaw,” he says again, smiling at the way Stiles’ heart skips a beat. 

“She would have liked you,” Stiles says, and that surprises Jackson. 

“Shut up, she would not. I treated her son like shit for years,” Jackson points out, chuckling. 

“Maybe, but now you’re her son’s amazing, gorgeous boyfriend who’s really sweet and so good to him and he’s super, crazy into you.” 

“Yeah?” Jackson asks, because he’s not so sure. He’s never been the kind of guy that parents like. 

“Yeah,” Stiles answers, nodding. “She would have given you a hard time at first, for sure, but you’d win her over with your charm and those pretty eyes and how happy you make me.”

Jackson smiles and kisses Stiles’ nose softly. “Is that how I won you over?” 

Stiles yawns and wraps an arm around Jackson’s waist, pulling him closer. “Everything about you won me over, dumbass. You’re so perfect, you don’t even know.”

That knocks the breath out of Jackson, honestly. Because he’s striven for perfection his whole life, and no matter what he’s done, it’s never been good enough. But apparently for Stiles, it is. Jackson doesn’t even have to try and Stiles thinks he’s perfect. 

He doesn’t know what to say to that, how to put what he’s feeling into words, so he just buries his face in Stiles’ neck and lets his scent ground him as they both fall asleep. 

 

The three of them go to the River Walk together in the morning. Jackson starts making a real effort to get along with Scott, because it makes Stiles happy, and he’s really not as bad as Jackson always thought, if he’s being honest. 

They go on a boat tour, and Stiles holds Jackson’s hand while they listen to Scott tell them about how things are going back home. He says things aren’t the same without his brilliant best friend by his side, but Liam’s been stepping up and helping out where he can. Derek’s taken Malia under his wing, because better him than Peter, and he’s such a protective dad with her now and it’s adorable. They have a pack meeting once a week to stay on top of the supernatural shit, or just to hang out if everything’s handled. Things are good, or as good as they can be in Beacon Hills. 

Scott hesitates for a moment before moving on to his next point, and he seems to be addressing Jackson more than Stiles. 

“Lydia and I have gotten really close. With her losing you and me losing Stiles, we started spending a lot of time together, and it just clicked, you know? I like her a lot, and she makes me really happy, and she keeps asking when I’m finally gonna ask her out, but I just…I felt kinda weird about doing that without talking to you first.” 

He can hear Scott’s nervous heartbeat, and see the genuine look in his eyes, like he really cares about how Jackson feels about it and would back off if he told him to, no questions asked. And in that moment, Jackson’s certain that Lydia deserves someone as good as Scott McCall. 

“She doesn’t need my permission, and neither do you, but go for it, man,” he says, nodding. “I have who I really want, she should too.”

Stiles smiles at that, leans over to press a gentle kiss to Jackson’s cheek. Jackson blushes, which is completely ridiculous, but he’s still not used to being casually intimate in front of people he knows. Sure, he and Lydia would make out in the hallways at school sometimes to show off and get people looking, but this is different. This is soft and vulnerable and letting his guard down around someone other than Stiles. It’s a nice feeling, though, so he leans into it and doesn’t stop to think about it too hard.

Scott chuckles to himself, smiling at them in a way that seems almost fond. 

“I don’t think anyone’s gonna believe me when I tell them how adorably into each other you guys are,” he says, and Jackson laughs.

“Danny would. He’s been giving me shit about it since the day we left Beacon Hills.”

Stiles perks up at that. “Aw, he has?” he asks, grin growing wider once Jackson nods in confirmation.

“He knew I had it bad before I even realized it myself,” Jackson admits, brushing his nose against Stiles’ temple as he leans in closer to him. “I still haven’t told him we finally got together, actually.”

“Speaking of telling people, you know what you should do for me as a birthday present?” Stiles asks with a hopeful smile aimed at Jackson.

“What?”

“Make us Facebook official,” he says, scoffing when Scott and Jackson both raise their eyebrows at him in amusement. “What? Everyone on planet Earth has their heads up my boyfriend’s ass and that’s fine, I don’t blame them, but it would be nice to at least put them in check and make sure they know that they can fantasize about him all they want, but at the end of the day, he’s mine.”

A shiver runs down Jackson’s spine at _mine_ , because it’s true. He undeniably, unapologetically, 100% belongs to Stiles, and he’s also really into this possessive side of him. 

He just shrugs, though, pretending to be nonchalant. “Okay, but we have to tell Danny first. He’ll be pissed if he’s the last to find out.”

“Deal,” Stiles says easily, beaming.

 

Scott, always a good sport, uses Jackson’s phone to take a picture of them kissing and sends it to Danny with nothing but a _Guess what ;)_ for context.

Danny calls him almost immediately, and the three of them wander off and find a table so they can all sit and talk to Danny on speakerphone. He wants to know the whole story of how it happened, which Scott seconds. Jackson decides to let Stiles field that question, because he’s not sure exactly how much he’s comfortable with people knowing.

“Jacks kissed me to piss off some homophobic asshole,” Stiles explains, and Scott and Danny both laugh.

_“That sounds about right. Nice one, Jackson.”_

“Okay, yeah, it wasn’t the most romantic first kiss in the world. Sue me,” Jackson says, rolling his eyes.

“It wasn’t, but my reaction wasn’t much better,” Stiles continues, hooking his foot around Jackson’s ankle under the table. “I started acting like a jackass and pushing him away because for the first time since the Nogitsune, I didn’t feel numb, and that scared the shit out of me, and I didn’t think I was good enough for him. But we talked it out, and then he took me back to our motel room and gave me a real kiss, and that one was romantic as hell.”

Scott and Danny coo at them, and Jackson pretends to be annoyed, but it doesn’t quite land.

_“You guys are such a mess. You deserve each other. Seriously, though, I’m really happy for you.”_

Scott echoes the sentiment, and Stiles is all smiles as he turns to gives Jackson a lingering kiss.

 

They all get lunch, and after that Jackson heads back to the motel to give Scott and Stiles a chance to spend some one-on-one time together.

As promised, he takes out his phone, pulls up the Facebook app, and changes his relationship status. Once that’s done, he thumbs over to his camera roll and opens the picture of him and Stiles. It’s the first time he’s actually seeing it, and honestly, it kind of takes his breath away. 

Stiles’ hand is resting on Jackson’s face, long fingers wrapped around his neck to pull him closer, thumb gently stroking his cheek. Their eyes are closed, noses brushing as Stiles leans in and closes the gap between them, and Jackson’s smiling into the kiss. The sun’s even shining behind them and giving them a nice, warm glow, and they both look so unbelievably fucking happy. There’s no trace of the demons they’ve both spent so long fighting; just the two of them, completely wrapped up in each other. And God, Stiles is beautiful.

Jackson goes back to Facebook, uploads the picture, and tags Stiles in it. He almost leaves it at that and posts it, but after a brief moment of hesitation, he adds a caption.

_Happy birthday to the guy who makes me happier than I ever thought I could be. I couldn’t have asked for a better person to run away with. Thanks for sweeping me off my feet and changing my life :)_

The picture blows up immediately, and Jackson watches the comments roll in. He is still Jackson Whittemore, certified attention whore, after all. His personal favorite is the one that asks “isn’t that the guy he had a restraining order against?” to which Jackson replies _yeah, but he punched me in the face once, so we’re even ;)._

 

He’s laying in bed, watching reruns of How I Met Your Mother when Stiles comes back later that night. 

“Hey, babe,” he calls as he shuts the door and steps out of his shoes. His scent smells faintly of alcohol, but he’s not drunk, just pleasantly buzzed.

“Hey,” Jackson answers, smiling when Stiles flops down on the bed next to him. “You guys have fun?”

“Mhm,” Stiles hums, pulling Jackson in for a sloppy kiss. “I saw your Facebook post.”

“Yeah?”

He nods and presses their foreheads together. “Yeah. I got a bunch of jealous hate mail, like I’m dating an actual celebrity. It was awesome.”

Jackson can’t help but smirk. “Yeah, well, now everyone knows that I’m yours.”

“Fuck yeah you are,” Stiles agrees, sliding a hand up Jackson’s shirt. His fingers roam his body lazily with feather-light touches, and Jackson’s skin tingles at the contact. 

He lets himself get lost in kissing Stiles for a few minutes, not that it’s hard. Contrary to the way Stiles does everything else, when he’s kissing, he doesn’t get distracted. Every ounce of his attention is on Jackson, passionate but gentle at the same time, licking into Jackson’s mouth with a satisfied hum like this is the only thing in the world that matters to him.

When they finally break apart, Stiles presses one last kiss to Jackson’s jaw and then settles into the bed, pulling Jackson against his chest as he gets comfortable. 

“Scott likes you a lot, you know.”

“That’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear,” Jackson admits, chuckling as he tangles their legs together. 

“It’s true,” Stiles says. “He thinks you’re a sweetheart and we’re really good together. He’s really happy I found you.”

Having Scott’s approval surprisingly means a lot to him, because it means Jackson really has made strides to becoming a better person, someone actual sunshine Scott McCall thinks is worthy of dating his best friend. It means that maybe Jackson’s finally good enough.

“I’m happy you found me, too. Totally worth losing my bad boy reputation,” he teases, smiling.

Stiles snorts, nudging Jackson with his knee and tickling him playfully until he’s gasping for breath.

 

Jackson goes to get breakfast for the three of them in the morning, and when he gets back, Stiles is still in bed and Scott’s pacing around the room nervously.

“Hey,” Jackson says, brow wrinkled with worry. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know, I just came over to hang out, but he won’t get up or talk to me or anything,” Scott explains, breathing hard and rushing to get the words out. “I don’t know what’s wrong, I don’t know what to do.”

Jackson pats his shoulder, trying for comforting, but his main concern is for Stiles. He goes over to the bed and lays down opposite him, looking into his eyes and finding a vacant stare. 

“Stiles,” he tries, stroking his face softly. “Stiles, hey, come back to me.”

It takes a couple minutes of coaxing, but eventually Stiles blinks back to reality, meeting Jackson’s gaze. 

“Hey, baby,” Jackson says, smiling reassuringly at him. “What’s going on?”

Stiles shakes his head once, and Jackson knows that means he doesn’t want to talk about it right now. Probably not in front of Scott, if he had to guess.

Jackson nods, runs his fingers through Stiles’ hair. “Okay, that’s cool, we don’t have to talk about it. I know you’re not feeling great, but Scott’s leaving tonight. Don’t you wanna hang out with him as much as you can before he has to go?”

Stiles sighs and buries his face in Jackson’s neck, taking deep breaths. Jackson indulges him for a few moments, rubbing his back and mumbling soft words of encouragement to him until finally, he nods. 

“Why don’t you go take a shower and relax, and we’ll be right out here whenever you’re ready, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles whispers, and Jackson gives him a chaste peck on the lips before he goes.

Once he’s in the bathroom with the door shut behind him, Jackson turns to Scott. “He’ll be out soon, but it’d probably be better if we just hang out here today, watch a couple movies or something.”

“Yeah, of course,” Scott says quietly. “You...you’re really good with him.”

Jackson shrugs. It’s not even something he has to think about, really; his first instinct is to protect Stiles, always.

“He just gets overwhelmed sometimes,” he explains to Scott. “Needs someone to help him get out of his head.”

Scott nods gratefully at him, like he’s thankful for being let in on this small part of what goes on in Stiles’ brain. 

“God, I’m really screwing up with him, aren’t I?”

He really does feel for Scott. It must be hard, Jackson figures, to know someone so well your entire life and then get the rug pulled out from under you and suddenly not have a clue. 

“Nah, you’re doing fine,” Jackson says, shaking his head. “It takes time—it did for me, too—but you’ll get the hang of it. Just don’t quit trying. Don’t give up on him, even when he tries to push you away. That’s what’s important.”

“Thanks, Jackson,” Scott says, smiling at him. 

Actually liking McCall is still a pretty foreign feeling, but he finds himself smiling back anyway. 

 

Once Stiles comes back out of the bathroom, Jackson tells him that he and Scott decided they’re having a Star Wars marathon today. His face brightens a little at that, and he says watching his favorite movies with his favorite guys sounds perfect. 

Their couch isn’t really big enough to accommodate three teenage boys, but they make it work. Stiles sits between them, curled up at Scott’s side with his legs in Jackson’s lap. He doesn’t talk much at first, but his scent sweetens as he listens to Scott and Jackson provide their own commentary, his anxiety slowly dissipating. By the second movie, he’s feeling quite a bit better, sharing movie trivia with them and quoting his favorite scenes along with the actors. 

“Thank you,” he tells them when the final credits roll, and Scott looks so relieved, like he hadn’t wanted to leave until he was sure Stiles was okay. 

“Anything for our favorite guy,” Jackson tells him, winking.

 

They drive Scott to the airport that night and walk with him as far as they’re allowed to. 

He gives Jackson a big hug and tells him thank you for everything, to take care of himself, and not be a stranger, because they’re friends now, whether he likes it or not. 

Then he turns to Stiles, and they hug each other so hard and so long that Jackson’s not sure how they’re still managing to breathe. They’re both crying quietly, and it makes Jackson tear up, too, if he’s being honest. 

“I love you so much. You know that, right?” Scott asks, and Stiles nods against his shoulder. 

“I know. I love you, too, Scotty.” 

They promise to FaceTime at least once a week and give each other one last squeeze before Scott goes, waving at them until he’s out of view. 

Jackson wraps an arm around Stiles’ waist and kisses the top of his head. “You okay?” he asks. 

Stiles nods, then pulls his phone out of his pocket. He takes a picture of them making kissy faces at the camera, then sends it to Scott with the caption _miss you already :)_ for him to see once he gets off the plane. 

 

“So, you wanna talk about what happened earlier?” Jackson asks once they’re back in the car. He reaches over the console to hold Stiles’ hand with one hand, driving with the other. 

He expects at least a little deflection on Stiles’ part, but to Jackson’s surprise, he answers easily. 

“I just...I’ve been really, really happy this weekend. Finally fixing things with Scott, and getting to hang with both of you, and actually announcing that we’re together to everyone and making it real, and coming home to you at night...it was perfect. I was so happy, and then I woke up this morning and felt really guilty. You know, like I don’t deserve to be that happy after all the shit I’ve done.” 

Jackson squeezes Stiles’ hand, brushing his thumb across his knuckles. He definitely knows that feeling. 

“Hey, you’ve been torturing yourself long enough,” Jackson says. “You can feel bad about what happened all you want, but you need to separate yourself from it. The things you did don’t define you, they don’t just deem you unworthy of moving on with your life.” 

Stiles looks at him skeptically. “Don’t they, though? I mean, none of the people I hurt can move on with theirs.”

“I know, but you can’t beat yourself up forever, babe. You’ve already punished yourself way more than anyone else would expect you to. And for what it’s worth, if there’s anyone that deserves to be happy, it’s you. You deserve the whole world.” 

“You’re such a fucking sap, you know that?” Stiles asks, but he’s biting back a smile. He brings their joined hands up to his lips to kiss Jackson’s fingers. 

“Yeah, well, just don’t tell anyone,” Jackson teases fondly. 

 

They hang out in San Antonio for another couple days, and then Jackson lets Stiles drive them up to Austin. Stiles jokes about it being the ultimate token of Jackson Whittemore’s trust, but honestly, he’s not wrong. He’s never let anyone else drive his Porsche, ever, not even Danny. It was one thing a couple weeks ago when Jackson broke down crying on the side of the road, but now there’s no impending danger, no extenuating circumstances, no reason at all for Jackson to relinquish the driver’s seat. He does, though, without question, simply because Stiles asked him to. The gravity of that hits him like a freight train as he tosses Stiles his keys, easy as anything. 

 

They decide to go to 6th Street and have a night out. The plan is to have dinner, go to a club or two, then hit up a few bars afterwards. Jackson digs his fake ID out from the bottom of his bag and orders them a Lyft, because even though he can’t get drunk, it’s Friday night, and he doesn’t want to have to deal with parking.

He hasn’t been to a club since Jungle, and he only remembers that night in flashes that he still can’t quite piece together. People recounted it to him after the fact, told him about all the things he did that he has absolutely no recollection of. When he walks into this club, though, he takes in the loud music and the flashing lights and all the bodies and for a moment, he’s back to that night.

“You okay?” Stiles asks from his side, leaning in closer to make sure he can hear him.

Jackson takes a deep breath and reminds himself all of that’s over now. Matt’s gone and they’re hundreds of miles away from Beacon Hills and it’s only him and Stiles, nothing life-threatening in sight. He nods and leans in to kiss Stiles because that always grounds him. Stiles smiles at him once they break apart and then takes Jackson by the hand and pulls him out to the dance floor. 

Stiles’ dance moves are still as tragic as ever, and Jackson would be embarrassed to be seen with him, honestly, if it weren’t for the fact that it’s so reminiscent of the old Stiles. The one that was just a normal kid, a gigantic dork that wasn’t afraid to be himself, that didn’t care about looking like an idiot as long as he was having fun. It’s captivating to see him let go like that now, after spending so long denying himself the simple pleasures in life, and all Jackson can do is watch him in admiration. He even lets himself act a little ridiculous too, because he finds that he’s starting not to care as much what people think of him as long as Stiles is by his side.

 

It doesn’t take long for people to start hitting on Jackson. He used to love all the constant adoration, and he won’t lie, it’s still a nice stroke to his ego, but the only attention he really wants anymore is from Stiles. 

Stiles, to his surprise, doesn’t cut in when people come up to him and start casually touching him, or leaning in way too close to whisper in his ear. He’s definitely jealous; Jackson can feel it seep into the air every time, without fail, but he seems to like watching Jackson shut them down himself, like he enjoys the constant reminder that Jackson could have anyone he wanted and he still chooses Stiles. 

“You know, these people probably wouldn’t be all over me as much if _you_ were all over me instead,” Jackson tells him after the fourth pick-up attempt. He wraps an arm around Stiles’ waist and pulls him closer, savoring the warmth of their bodies pressed together. 

Stiles sucks in a breath, caught off guard, but he doesn’t waste any time. He ducks his head and mouths at Jackson’s neck, grinding his hips in time to the music. Jackson has no idea where this sudden coordination came from, how this is the same guy who just spent an hour flailing around on the dance floor like an embarrassing dad, but he’s not going to question it. Not when Stiles is licking and biting and sucking like his life depends on it, like he’s determined to leave a lasting mark on Jackson even though it’s not possible. 

Jackson pulls back for a moment, just long enough to catch his breath, because if there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s being a tease. He’ll be damned if he doesn’t give just as good as he gets. He turns around and backs himself up, moving his ass in slow, small circles against Stiles’ crotch. He lets out a strangled whine and grips Jackson’s hips hard, matching every movement with one of his own. Jackson reaches back to wrap an arm around Stiles’ neck and turns his head just enough to pull him in for a sloppy kiss. Stiles moans into his mouth, their tongues colliding hot and heavy. 

This is how Jackson always imagined the two of them would be together, way back when, before the kanima and the nogitsune fucked them both up. When times were simpler and they hated each other so much that all Jackson wanted to do was have a little angry, rough sex to work out some of that aggression. As much as he enjoys his soft, gentle kisses with Stiles, this is what he had always pictured: full of passion and intensity, completely and utterly all-consuming.

He feels dizzy, like he’s under some sort of influence despite the fact that neither of them have had a drop to drink. He can feel Stiles’ hard-on against his ass, and Jackson _wants_. 

Stiles flips him around then, with a force that both surprises Jackson and turns him on. He presses their foreheads together and looks at him with bedroom eyes so compelling that Jackson would drop to his knees for him right here in the middle of this club if he asked him to. 

“Take me home,” he says, never breaking eye contact, and Jackson is powerless to deny him.

 

The car ride is short, but it’s enough time for Jackson to pull himself together and actually think about what’s happening with his head and not his dick. Because the last time they had a conversation about sex, they agreed that they wouldn’t be having any. At least, not until Stiles is ready. And if Stiles is ready now, then Jackson’s 100% on board, but he needs to be damn sure. They need to slow down and talk about it before they rush into it and end up doing something they regret. 

When they get back to their room, though, Stiles is all over him before he can get a word in.

“God, you were so hot tonight, turning everyone down and then dancing with me like that with everybody watching,” he says, a little breathless as he leans in and kisses Jackson again. He’s definitely still wrapped up in everything, and Jackson doesn’t blame him, but he forces himself to pull away before he gets lost in it again too.

“Stiles,” he mumbles, resting his hands on Stiles’ shoulders to steady them both. “Stiles, we have to talk about this.”

“No, we don’t, it’ll kill the mood. It’s fine, I’m okay,” Stiles argues, still persistently trying to pull him toward the bed. 

“Having a conversation about how you’re feeling and what you’re up for isn’t gonna kill the mood, dickwad. Me doing something to you that you’re not comfortable with will, though,” Jackson says. It’s blunt enough that it actually gets Stiles’ attention. “Just take a breath and talk to me, okay?”

Stiles seems to finally snap out of it and nods. “Sorry. God, I’m sorry.”

Jackson gives him a quick peck on the lips. “It’s okay, I know I’m hard to resist,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

Stiles chuckles and runs his fingers through Jackson’s hair. “Okay, let’s do this. Let’s talk.” 

“Okay,” Jackson says, sitting on the bed and patting the spot next to him until Stiles joins him. “So, do you feel like you’re ready to have sex again?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles says with a shrug. “I mean, I didn’t think I was, but being close to you like that felt really, really good, like maybe I could handle it.” 

“Yeah, but that’s probably just because you’re horny,” Jackson points out, and Stiles pouts. 

“Maybe, but I’m _really_ horny, man. You’re way too fucking hot for your own good, getting myself off isn’t gonna cut it.” 

Jackson hums, thinking it over. “What is it about sex that makes you uncomfortable? Just being with someone else at all?”

“No, more just the fact that it’s putting something so personal into someone else’s hands,” Stiles explains. “Don’t get me wrong, I trust you, but it’s really hard to just give myself over to someone like that.”

“Alright, so what if you do everything yourself, and I’m just here to help? All our clothes stay on, and I don’t touch you unless you ask me to, just some good old-fashioned dry humping to take the edge off.”

Stiles scoffs, looking thoroughly mortified. “This is so stupid. You could have gone home with anyone at that club and had awesome, normal sex, and instead you’re stuck with me because I led you on and now you’re proposing that I just rut against you like I’m thirteen again.”

“Okay, A: I was never gonna go home with anyone but you. In case you forgot, I’m your boyfriend and our home is the same place,” Jackson starts, rolling his eyes. “B: You didn’t lead me on. We had this talk, and I told you I was fine with it, and I meant it. You don’t owe me anything, ever. And C: You turned me on just as much as I turned you on tonight, and dry humping sounds pretty damn good to me right about now. Although, for the record, if you don’t want to do that either, that’s cool too.”

“No, no, I want to, I just...are you sure?” Stiles asks hesitantly. 

“I’m sure. I want you to use me, baby,” Jackson says, winking at Stiles playfully. He lays back on the bed and spreads his legs wide to make room for Stiles, then looks up at him expectantly. 

“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” Stiles mutters, biting his lip as he scrambles to climb on top of Jackson. 

“Hey, seriously, if you wanna stop, we stop, okay?” 

Stiles nods, then leans in to kiss him. He pulls away just long enough to ask, “Did I really turn you on?”

“Are you kidding? I’ve been thinking about getting your mouth on me for years, and the way you went to town on my neck definitely didn’t disappoint,” Jackson says pointedly, hoping Stiles will get the hint. 

“Oh yeah? Like this?” he asks, giving him exactly what he wants. He licks at Jackson’s pulse point, making him shiver. 

“Mhm,” Jackson hums. He’s careful to leave his hands at his sides, not touching Stiles without explicit instructions to do so. “I bet you love that I let you near my neck, let my wolf submit to you, don’t you?” 

He doesn’t know for sure, but Jackson makes an educated guess that Stiles is probably into the whole wolf thing and rolls with it. And judging by the way his pulse races and his arousal seeps into the air, Jackson would say it was a correct assumption.

“Fuck, yeah,” Stiles breathes, hot against his skin. “God, Jacks, you’re so perfect, so good for me.”

Jackson can’t quite stifle his abrupt moan, his hips jerking up in search of friction. He knows he likes being praised during sex, but it’s not something he broadcasts; he hadn’t let any of his fuck buddies or one night stands get close enough to figure it out, too afraid they’d use it against him. The only person he’d ever trusted with it was Lydia, and that was years ago now. 

And now here he is, in bed with Stiles for not even five minutes and he’s already figured out what makes him tick. What he wants to hear most, how to make him fall apart. Even though he’s still fully clothed, Jackson has never felt more exposed. 

Stiles doesn’t say anything about it, but he smirks like he’s pleased with himself as he grinds down against Jackson, tantalizingly slow. He’s still relentlessly mouthing at Jackson’s throat.

“Fuck, Stiles, mark me,” he encourages, since that’s clearly what Stiles is yearning for. 

“Call me Stilinski,” he says, shrugging when Jackson raises a questioning brow at him. “I used to have a locker room fantasy that went pretty much exactly like this.”

Jackson happily obliges, glad he’s not the only one succumbing to his desires. “You gonna come in your pants for me, Stilinski? Show me how bad you want me?”

“Hell yeah I am,” Stiles mumbles, nipping at Jackson’s neck. “Show me your eyes, baby.”

It catches Jackson off guard, because he’s spent so long working on his control, perfecting it so that no one can catch a glimpse of his eyes and look at him like he’s damaged. He obeys, though, because if there’s one person who understands he’s not a monster, it’s Stiles. He lets his eyes flash blue and looks up at Stiles, who groans helplessly. 

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath. “So fucking pretty, Jackson.”

Stiles takes Jackson’s hands then and guides them to his ass, which Jackson is more than okay with. He slides his hands into the back pockets of Stiles’ jeans and pulls him down, not hard enough to be forceful but encouraging him to speed up his thrusts. 

They’re both panting, and Stiles’ movements start to get a little more frantic as he murmurs “shit, I’m close” in Jackson’s ear. 

“Come for me, Stilinski,” Jackson says, and Stiles kisses him hard, licks into his mouth like he’s starving and Jackson’s the last meal on earth. 

Jackson parts his lips easily and hums in encouragement, and Stiles comes with a shudder, moaning into Jackson’s mouth. 

Jackson opens his eyes then so he can watch Stiles, and god, he’s gorgeous like this. For once, he looks like he’s not thinking about anything at all other than his pleasure, and Jackson can’t help but feel satisfied that _he_ did that. 

And then he’s breaking their kiss to look pointedly down at Jackson’s crotch and ask “Can I…?”

Jackson nods a little too enthusiastically. “Yeah, please,” he says, and he sounds wrecked. 

Stiles barely has enough time to undo Jackson’s zipper and wrap a hand around him over his underwear before he’s spilling into his boxers. It’s undoubtedly the most satisfying orgasm Jackson’s ever had without taking any of his clothes off. 

Stiles watches him intently and then kisses Jackson’s nose, grinning. 

“You feel better now?” Jackson asks him. He feels himself smiling like an idiot, but he can’t seem to stop it. 

“ _So_ much better, oh my god,” Stiles says, laughing contentedly. “Thanks for being patient with me.”

“Always,” he says easily. He pecks Stiles on the lips, because he can, and then nudges him with his elbow. “You can have first shower.” 

“Or you could come with,” Stiles offers, and he sounds so nonchalant, like it’s something they’ve done a million times before. 

“Just to shower. I promise I’ll behave,” he clarifies when he sees Jackson’s skeptical expression. “Come on, I can’t in good conscience just leave you sitting out here in your dried come.”

“I mean, if you insist,” Jackson says with a shrug, smiling as Stiles takes him by the hand and pulls him into the bathroom. 

He lets Stiles undress him and revels in the way he looks at Jackson like he’s the most precious thing in the world. He looks back at Stiles pretty much the exact same way, if he’s being honest, which earns him a full-body blush and a shy peck on the lips. 

Jackson hasn’t ever actually taken a shower with another person. In the past, he’d just used it as a means of escape; as soon as the sex was over, he would run off to take a shower and by the time he got back, whoever he’d slept with would be gone. 

It’s surprisingly intimate, with all the soft kisses and the shuffling back and forth to share the water. Stiles washes his hair for him, massaging his scalp gently, and Jackson gladly returns the favor. 

“I’ve never done this before,” he admits mid-shampoo. 

“Oh yeah? Does that mean I’m more than just another notch in Jackson Whittemore’s bedpost?” Stiles teases. 

“Shut up,” Jackson says, huffing out a laugh and rolling his eyes. “It’s nice.”

Stiles hums in agreement, leaning into Jackson’s touch. “I haven’t either. Malia and I were never really...close like this. I made sure the majority of the time I spent naked in front of her was in the dark.”

“You shouldn’t cover yourself up like that. You’re perfect, don’t hide it,” Jackson answers, ducking his head to kiss Stiles’ shoulder tenderly. 

Stiles looks genuinely surprised to hear that, and Jackson hates that no one’s ever said it to him before. He deserves to be told every single day how goddamn special he is. 

“I won’t hide from you,” Stiles promises, quietly, and Jackson can definitely live with that. 

 

The day of Beacon Hills’ graduation isn’t a great day for them. 

They couldn’t avoid it even if they wanted to; it’s surrounding them everywhere they turn, plastered all over their social media feeds. 

Between everyone in the pack, just about the entire ceremony is posted in bits and pieces via Snapchat videos, and there’s so many pictures of everyone in their caps and gowns afterwards, complete with sappy captions about how happy they are to have finally made it. There’s even a group picture of the entire pack, and Jackson won’t lie, it stings that he’s not in it. 

It’s not just that, though. Looking at it in retrospect, he realizes just how ill-advised and reckless it was to just quit school and never look back the way they did. Jackson doesn’t regret it for a second, because it brought him to Stiles, but he is starting to think that they should possibly reconsider that decision. 

“Maybe we should go back and finish,” he says as he scrolls past a picture of Lydia and Scott holding up their diplomas, and Stiles flips his shit. 

“I _can’t_ , Jackson,” he says in a rush, his heart rate doubling in an instant. “I can’t go back there, ever. God, I thought you understood that.” 

“Stiles, I didn’t mean—” Jackson tries, because all he was talking about was high school in general, not BHHS specifically, but Stiles has already made up his mind. 

He grabs his phone and his wallet and leaves the motel room without another word. Jackson lets him go, because he can tell when Stiles wants to be chased after and when he wants to be left alone, and this is definitely the latter. 

He Skypes with Danny and talks to him for awhile, about this and then about anything else once he decides he needs a distraction. 

Stiles calls him after he’s been gone a few hours and asks him to come pick him up from some seedy bar down the road. When he gets there, Stiles is completely shitfaced, and Jackson’s heart aches at the fact that he went out and got drunk alone instead of talking to him.

He takes Stiles home, though, tucks him into bed with a kiss on the forehead and tells him they’ll talk about it tomorrow. 

 

When they wake up in the morning, Stiles is quiet but cuddly. Jackson holds him close and drains the pain from his pounding headache, earning him a satisfied sigh and a kiss for his efforts. 

“I’m sorry I freaked out and ran off,” Stiles mumbles, sounding embarrassed. 

“It’s okay, babe. I’m sorry too,” Jackson assures him. “I shouldn’t have ambushed you like that.”

Stiles looks relieved at that. He leans in and nuzzles Jackson’s neck. 

“I just...I can’t go back to Beacon Hills, Jacks. I wish I could, I miss everyone so much, but just the thought of it makes me feel as shitty as I felt when we left. And I really, really don’t want to feel like that again. Not when I’m finally starting to let myself be happy with you.”

Jackson shushes him and runs his fingers through Stiles’ hair. “I know, Stiles. I’m with you, I promise, but will you hear me out?”

Stiles nods.

“I know you can’t go back there, and I would never ask you to,” Jackson starts, rubbing Stiles’ back gently with his free hand. “If I’m being honest, I’m more than okay with the idea of never setting foot in that toxic town again. But I have been thinking that maybe we should go back to school. Not there, but somewhere.”

Stiles doesn’t agree, but he doesn’t protest, and he’s still calm and relaxed in Jackson’s arms, so it’s already going better than it went yesterday. Jackson takes that as a good sign and continues.

“I know you’ve always wanted to follow in your dad’s footsteps and be a detective, and I want that for you. You’d be perfect at it, and you’d wear the hell out of that uniform. And I...I’ve been thinking I might wanna go into social work and make sure that kids like me don’t get screwed over, that they end up with people who really want them.”

Stiles softens at that. “Yeah?” he asks, pressing a kiss to Jackson’s jaw.

“Yeah,” Jackson answers, nodding. “And we can’t do any of that without graduating from high school. I know it’s scary, but I just want us to be able to move on from all of this, you know? And I think it’s important that we do this in order for that to happen.”

“You’re right,” Stiles says softly. He finally looks up and meets Jackson’s eyes. “We’re gonna be poor as hell, you know. A social worker and a cop? We’re gonna make jackshit.” 

He’s smiling shyly, and Jackson can’t help but do the same.

“I can live with being poor as long as I have you,” he says. He never thought in his wildest dreams that a sentence like that would ever come out of his mouth, but he means it 100%.

Stiles kisses him then, earnest and sincere, and Jackson knows he feels the same way.

 

Danny calls him later that evening. He and Stiles are making out lazily, but Stiles releases him and encourages him to pick it up, running a hand up Jackson’s shirt and stroking his side idly instead. 

“Hello?” he answers, watching Stiles fondly. 

_“Hey, man. Is Stiles with you?”_

“Yeah, he’s right here,” Jackson says, smiling when Stiles perks up at the mention of himself.

_“Cool. Put me on speaker, would you?”_

Jackson obliges and nudges Stiles, who greets him with a cheerful “Hey, Danny.”

_“Hey, Stiles. So, I have a proposition for you guys.”_

“If it’s a threesome, we’re in,” Stiles quips, snorting when Jackson chokes in surprise. “Kidding, kidding, my Jackie doesn’t share very well.”

He means to tell Stiles not to call him that, but all that comes out instead is “Damn right I don’t.” He kisses Stiles thoroughly to remind him that Jackson is all he needs, and Danny chuckles at them.

_“Trust me, I know he doesn’t. Believe it or not, though, that’s actually not it. I talked to a few people in the office at my school and I think I may be able to help you guys.”_

“We’re listening,” Jackson says, raising a brow in curiosity. 

_“So I told them about you. Not everything, obviously, just that you went through some hard times and had to leave suddenly, and that you’re both top of your class and could really use a break. Anyway, my principal said she’d be willing to let you guys finish up your semester here, spend a few weeks making up what you missed instead of having to repeat a whole year.”_

“You did all that for us?” Jackson asks, touched beyond belief. 

_“It really wasn’t that hard. They’d do anything for their favorite class valedictorian. So what do you say? The office will take care of transferring you, and my parents are cool with you staying in our guest room, and you’ll love Hawaii, I promise. It’s like California, but about a million times better.”_

“You’re an angel, Danny,” Stiles says gratefully. “I’m in. Jackson?”

“Yeah, that sounds perfect. Thanks so much, man, really.”

_“Anything for you guys. I’ll see you soon, okay?”_

They tell him thank you one more time before they hang up, and Jackson can’tcouldn’t stop smiling if he triesd. He gets to see his best friend again, and he gets to take his boyfriend with him, _and_ they get to spend a month in Hawaii. All is right in the world, as far as he’s concerned.

“You’re gonna look so fucking pretty laying on a beach in Hawaii,” Stiles tells him, grinning.

“And you’re gonna look so fucking pretty laying next to me.” Jackson smirks and pulls Stiles back on top of him so they can pick up where they left off when Danny called.

 

It doesn’t take them long to get all their stuff packed, since they’ve been traveling light and they’re already living out of suitcases anyway. Within 48 hours of their phone call with Danny, they’re en route to Hawaii. 

“You ready for this?” Stiles asks him on the plane, squeezing Jackson’s hand, which he’s been holding since takeoff. 

“Definitely,” Jackson answers with a nod. “I am gonna miss having you all to myself, though.”

Stiles coos and leans over to kiss Jackson’s cheek. “Promise you’re not gonna be embarrassed to seen with me in front of your cool friends?”

Jackson laughs and rolls his eyes. “Never, dumbass,” he says, which seems to be enough to placate Stiles. 

 

Danny’s waiting for them at the airport when they land, complete with a sign that says Whittemore/Stilinski with a bunch of little hearts around it. Jackson grins and runs at him, wrapping his arms around him and holding him tight. 

“God, I’ve missed you,” he mumbles into Danny’s shoulder. 

“I’ve missed you, too, man,” Danny says, patting Jackson’s back. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you be this affectionate, though, to be honest. Stilinski, are you turning my best friend into a sap?” 

Stiles grins and shrugs, inserting himself into the hug as well with one arm around Jackson and one around Danny. “Hey, I never tried to change him. He did that all on his own.”

Jackson just rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling as he says “What can I say? Actually being happy makes all the difference,” and plants a kiss on Stiles’ cheek. 

“Aw, you guys are cute,” Danny coos, ruffling their hair affectionately. “I gotta admit, I wasn’t sure you guys would last longer than a week at first.”

Stiles scoffs and puts a hand over his heart, offended. “How dare you, Daniel? I’m _never_ gonna let him go, you can bet your ass on that.”

He’s being dramatic, sure, but his heartbeat is steady and certain. He thinks Jackson is something worth fighting for, worth holding on to. He wants Jackson forever. 

Jackson smiles like an idiot the entire ride back to Danny’s place. 

 

He’d gotten so used to being in his own private little bubble with Stiles that actually being around other people again is a bit of an adjustment. It’s nice, though; Danny’s amazing, and his parents were always better parents to Jackson than his own ever were. 

Jackson pulls them aside and tells them as much, thanks them for everything they did for him, even when he acted like a dick and didn’t deserve it. They just smile and tell him that’s what parents do, and that they’re proud of him for how he’s handling everything, and Jackson would be lying if he said he didn’t shed a few tears. 

They take to Stiles easily, too, saying that anyone who makes their Jackson so happy must be pretty special. For the first time in his life, really, he feels comfortable in the house he’s living in. He doesn’t have to go through the exhausting charade of pretending to be perfect anymore; he can let his guard down, he can cuddle with his boyfriend on the couch, he can just _be_. He’s free, and he’s surrounded by all his favorite people and it’s really, really good.

 

“You’re really into him, huh?” Danny asks him one day when he catches Jackson watching Stiles fondly from across the room. 

“I really am,” Jackson says, getting the same stupid grin on his face that always subconsciously appears when he talks about Stiles. 

“Do you love him?” 

“Yeah,” Jackson answers, without even a second of hesitation, and then promptly panics. 

That’s...a big deal for him. He’s never said that, hasn’t allowed himself to even _think_ it, because he’s had such a warped view of it that he was never convinced he really knew what it meant. His parents didn’t love each other, and they certainly didn’t love him, so how the hell would he know?

He knows now, though. There’s not a doubt in his mind that this thing he has with Stiles, this relationship that’s so pure and honest and _healthy_ despite all odds, is love. And that kind of terrifies him. 

“Don’t freak out, man,” Danny says, reading his mind and pulling him back from his thoughts. “It’s a good thing. You deserve what you have with him, okay? You’ve earned it.”

Stiles looks up from his phone then and smiles softly when he meets Jackson’s eyes. He gets up and crosses the room in favor of plopping himself down in Jackson’s lap. 

“What’re you guys talking about?” he asks, grinning when Jackson’s arms wrap around him without delay. 

“You,” Danny answers, and Stiles raises a curious eyebrow. 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah. I love you, apparently,” Jackson says before he loses his nerve. It’s not some perfect romantic moment, with Danny sitting right next to them, but they’ve both long since figured out that’s not Jackson’s strong suit. 

Stiles’ heart stutters in his chest and his scent goes ridiculously sweet and Jackson call tell he’s both surprised and absolutely over the moon. He doesn’t make it a huge deal, though, because he knows it will overwhelm Jackson. 

“Oh, cool. I love you, too,” he says simply, then leans in for a kiss. Jackson sighs in contentment, still in awe of the way Stiles knows him so well, how he always knows exactly what to say and do to put Jackson’s mind at ease. 

“So, do you guys think you still would have ended up so disgustingly adorable and sappy if none of the werewolf shit had ever happened?” Danny asks, chuckling warmly at them. 

It’s a question that bugs Jackson sometimes, because honestly, he doesn’t know. He wants to say yes, but he was such an arrogant prick back then that he’s not sure he would have even been capable of it. Not to mention the fact that Stiles hated his guts, and rightfully so. Jackson hates the idea that they’re only together by circumstance, but it does feel that way at times. 

“It would have taken a hell of a lot more time and angst, but I like to think so,” Stiles says, carding a hand through Jackson’s hair. “We probably would have started out just angry fucking, keeping it a secret and pretending we still hated each other until one day we didn’t. Jacks would have been in denial about it for awhile and probably tried to push me away because he’d be afraid to let himself get too close, but I wouldn’t give up on him. He’s worth the effort.”

Danny coos at them, and that’s the last time Jackson ever doubts whether they’re truly meant to be together, because that’s a pretty perfect answer. 

 

It’s a long few weeks of studying, but Danny and his parents help. They quiz them and grade their practice exams and remind them when it’s time to take a much needed break, because neither he or Stiles is very good about that. 

Jackson reads to Stiles when he can’t focus on the pages anymore, and Stiles is there with soft, encouraging kisses when Jackson gets frustrated because he can’t remember something. They work their asses off, but they get through it together, and it pays off. 

They don’t get an official graduation ceremony, but they’re both so happy to finally be finished that it really doesn’t even matter. 

“I’m so proud of you,” he tells Stiles, pulling him in for a tight embrace and kissing him soundly. 

It’s true. He’s proud of both of them, how far they’ve come, the fact they were actually able to follow through and finish. After everything that’s happened to try and drag them both down, they still came out on top, and that’s an impressive feat.

Jackson looks at the diploma in his hands, though, and it almost feels bittersweet with the unmistakable _Whittemore_ stamped across it. Seeing it makes his skin crawl; he hates associating himself to them, hates the idea of giving them any sort of credit for his accomplishments, because they don’t deserve it. Every good thing he’s ever done in his life, this especially, he’s done in spite of them.

He must be frowning, because Stiles nudges him and asks, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I just hate that I have their name,” Jackson says with a shrug. He’s trying his damnedest to keep his cool, because he really doesn’t want today to be just one more thing they ruined for him.

“Would you rather have mine?”

Stiles says it so casually that it takes a minute for Jackson to actually take it for what it is, which is most definitely a proposal. Holy shit, Stiles is proposing. 

“I...are you serious? You’d do that?” Jackson chokes out, head spinning. 

“Yeah, man. Shit, I should probably…” He trails off to hand his diploma to Jackson, and then he’s getting down on one knee and Jackson can’t breathe. “I know this isn’t exactly the dream proposal, I didn’t plan it or do anything special and I don’t even have a ring for you yet, but listen to my heart, okay? I mean every word. I love you, every part of you, and I know you feel the same about me. And honestly, I didn’t think I would ever be able to have that with anyone. 

You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and even though I didn’t plan on doing this right here, right now, I _have_ thought about it a lot. There’s not a doubt in my mind that you’re who I want to spend my life with, because you’re the one who made me want to live again in the first place. Whether it’s a month from now, or a year, or five years, I’m gonna marry you, I’m sure of it. So why not do it now and share my name with you, so you can be free of the Whittemores once and for all? Marry me, Jacks.”

Jackson started crying about a sentence into Stiles’ speech, and his heart just feels so happy and full it could burst. Stiles’ heartbeat never wavered, and what’s better, he’s not even nervous. Stiles Stilinski, the boy who’s a constant bundle of nerves and anxiety in every situation, just asked Jackson to marry him with perfect composure. He’s so sure of the way Jackson feels about him that he’s not worried, hasn’t even considered the possibility of him saying no. 

“Yes,” Jackson says, as certain as Stiles. 

Stiles grins, stands back up so he can wipe Jackson’s tears away and kiss him gently. 

 

When they get home, Stiles pulls Jackson up to their bedroom and starts stripping out of his clothes. Jackson watches him fervently, but stops him briefly with a hand on Stiles’ face. 

“Hey, you know this doesn’t change anything,” Jackson says gently, brushing his thumb against Stiles’ cheek. “Just because we’re engaged doesn’t mean you owe me sex.”

“I know,” Stiles says, smiling and kissing Jackson’s nose. “But if I trust you enough to promise myself to you forever, I’m pretty sure I can trust you to touch my dick. I swear, Jackson, I want this.”

“Okay,” Jackson says. He holds up his pinky, though, looking at Stiles pointedly. “But promise you’ll stop me if you change your mind.” 

Stiles snorts, shaking his head fondly. “God, I love you, you dork. I promise,” he replies, hooking their pinkies together with a smile. 

They take their time undressing each other between lazy, languid kisses. That’s all they do for awhile, content to get lost in kissing one another until Stiles takes Jackson’s hand and guides it where he really wants it.

Jackson wraps his fingers around Stiles and starts stroking him slowly. He’s tentative at first, watching closely to gauge Stiles’ reaction. There’s no sign of uneasiness, though; Stiles gasps and then lets out a happy sigh, melting into Jackson’s touch. Jackson leans in to kiss him as he continues with more tenacity, humming in encouragement against Stiles’ lips until he starts to thrust into Jackson’s hand. 

His orgasm takes them both by surprise, Stiles letting out an abrupt groan as his come paints Jackson’s stomach. 

“Fuck,” he whines in frustration, clearly wanting more. “Don’t stop, please, I’ll get hard again.”

Jackson is happy to oblige, ducking his head to kiss Stiles’ neck as he grinds his own erection against his warm skin, until Stiles gets on his knees for the second time today and promptly takes Jackson into his mouth. 

Jackson moans helplessly, his fingers immediately finding their way into Stiles’ hair. He’s careful to keep his back firmly against the wall, not wanting to do anything to trigger Stiles and make him feel like he’s losing his control of the situation. It’s not easy, though; it’s been a long time since anyone’s blown him, and besides that, none of them were ever this good. Which is completely unfair, because Jackson knows for a fact Stiles has never actually given a blowjob before, and the fact that he’s this naturally talented is just ridiculous. It’s like he was made to suck cock.

He tells Stiles as much, and that earns him a moan that vibrates perfectly against his dick as Stiles takes him deeper. He looks up at Jackson through his lashes and Jackson shudders, because that’s way hotter than it has any right to be. 

“I want you inside me,” Stiles says once he pulls off. His voice is wrecked, and sure enough, he’s fully hard again, and Jackson loves that it’s all because of him. He kisses the corner of Stiles’ mouth before going to rifle through his duffel bag for lube.

“Shit, we don’t have any condoms. I can go ask Danny--” he starts, but Stiles cuts him off with a shake of his head. 

“We don’t need one,” Stiles says. He kisses Jackson thoroughly, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth as he pulls away. “Want to feel you fill me up with your come.” 

Jackson lets out a broken moan at that, his eyes flashing blue as he backs Stiles onto the bed enthusiastically. He lays him out and hooks his legs over Jackson’s shoulders, teasing him with feather-light kisses against his hole. 

Stiles whimpers and kicks Jackson playfully. “Fucking tease,” he mutters.

Jackson chuckles, nipping at Stiles’ thigh in retaliation before he takes pity on him and drags his tongue along his entrance.

Stiles sucks in a breath, a shiver running through his entire body as Jackson rims him. “Holy shit, oh _fuck_ ,” he pants.

Jackson hums appreciatively and rewards him by pressing his tongue inside. He takes his sweet time eating Stiles out and fingering him open until he’s completely wrecked and desperate, the only words still coming out of his mouth _fuck_ and _Jackson_ and _please_. 

“I want you to ride me,” Jackson tells him, because even though Stiles has been fine so far, he doesn’t want to risk making him feel ambushed by being on top of him, pinning him down. 

Stiles is more than okay with the suggestion, scrambling to move so Jackson can take his place on the bed. Stiles straddles his thighs, lifts himself up to position them both, and uses a hand to guide him as he sinks himself down on Jackson’s cock. 

They both moan in unison once Jackson bottoms out and Stiles is fully seated. Jackson had prepped him more generously than he would have done on himself, but he still takes Stiles’ hand and laces their fingers together just in case, ready to drain any pain if need be.

When Stiles starts moving, Jackson is a goner. His eyes are glued to Stiles as he watches him bounce on his cock, eyes closed and his head thrown back blissfully. Jackson spends what feels like forever spouting jumbled filth and jacking Stiles off as he moves his hips in perfect little circles on Jackson’s dick, but none of the dirty talk is what actually pushes Stiles over the edge.

“God, Stiles, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathes, and just like that, Stiles is spilling into Jackson’s hand, his entire body shaking with the intensity of it. The sight alone is enough to send Jackson’s own orgasm crashing through him, and he thrusts up to bury his cock impossibly deeper in Stiles as he fills him with his come. 

Stiles sighs happily as he slumps against Jackson, resting his forehead on his shoulder. 

“You good?” Jackson asks him, just to make sure, and Stiles nods. 

“I’m really good,” he answers with a breathless laugh. “Are _you_ good? Did I hold my own compared to all your other conquests?” 

“You’re such an idiot,” Jackson says, rolling his eyes and pushing Stiles off of him for good measure. “My meaningless one night stands don’t even compare to soft, sappy sex with my fiancé, dumbass. Although, not gonna lie, I was kind of hoping _you_ would fuck _me_.” 

Stiles’ eyes go wide at that and he smirks, slinging a leg back over Jackson’s waist. “Next time,” he promises. 

 

They get married on the beach. 

Danny and his parents are there, and Scott and John fly out to be there for Stiles. It’s not expensive and extravagant like the Whittemores would have no doubt insisted on, which makes Jackson love it all the more. It’s just him and Stiles and the people they love most in the world. They both make each other cry with their vows and when they kiss, Jackson feels whole in a way he never has before. 

After the ceremony, Stiles’ dad pulls Jackson aside and congratulates him. Jackson can’t help but feel grateful, because the guy is a hell of a lot more accepting of Jackson than he would have ever expected, considering he ran off with his son for three months without permission and then married him. 

“I can’t pretend to know what the two of you went through, but I know how good you are for Stiles,” he tells Jackson, patting his shoulder affectionately. “You helped him when none of us had any idea how to. You knew what he needed and you put him first, even when all of us back home were telling you both that it was a mistake. It wasn’t, and you knew that.”

“I did,” Jackson agrees, nodding. “I’m sorry for how we left, honestly, but I’d do it all over again. I’d do anything for him.”

The sheriff smiles at that. “I know you would. Anyone could see how crazy you are about him, and you make him happier than I’ve seen him in a long time, and that’s good enough for me.”

“Thanks for being so cool about all of this. Stiles is really lucky to have you,” Jackson says, trying not to sound too transparently envious about that. 

Like father, like son, though, apparently, because the sheriff just shoots him the same knowing look he gets from Stiles when he figures out what Jackson’s not saying. 

“For what it’s worth, son, you have me too. I know I’m not your parents, and it’s not the same, but you’re family now. Okay?”

Jackson nods, trying not to tear up, because he’s already cried enough today. If he sheds a few against John’s shoulder when he pulls him in for a hug, though, no one has to know. 

 

Once they’ve had their moment, Stiles comes up and wraps his arms around Jackson from behind, pulling him close. 

“Hey, Stilinski,” he says, and Jackson grins so hard it hurts. 

“Hey,” he answers, turning his head to the side. “I can’t believe you’re my husband now.”

“Always will be,” Stiles says, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and Jackson’s heart soars. 

 

They decide to move to Seattle, because that’s where this all started and they’re both sentimental as hell, even if they won’t admit it to anyone but each other. They get a shitty apartment and a dog and they hang up all the pictures from their trip and it’s all so ridiculously, blissfully domestic. 

They go to couples therapy religiously, even though it makes Jackson feel about a thousand years old, because he’s not an idiot. He knows they’re young, and they jumped into this, and they both have more baggage than most people could ever imagine. Marriage takes effort, and he’s willing to put in as much time as it takes, because he’s not gonna risk losing Stiles. Not ever. 

Once they both start school, they’re drowning in student loan debt, but Stiles refuses to let Jackson sell the Porsche because it’s where they fell in love. Jackson’s never been so poor in his life, but he’s also never been happier. 

It’s perfect.


End file.
